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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28343433">Safe as Houses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roshwen/pseuds/Hedgehog-o-Brien'>Hedgehog-o-Brien (Roshwen)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A Dragon - Freeform, And a cleanup crew of gnomes bc why the fuck not, Basically a cute gay cottagecore romance about a trans witch and a himbo werewolf, Featuring a ghost, Fluff, Glaciers move faster than these two, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, NaNoWriMo 2020, Romance, Slow Burn, The Slow Burn to End All Slow Burns, Vampires, Werewolves and witches, a Selkie - Freeform, no really, trans OC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:55:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>85,555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28343433</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roshwen/pseuds/Hedgehog-o-Brien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Remington Moore hears that the new tenant in his building will be a werewolf, he is less than enthused, to say the least. But Ashford Leigh is not at all like the werewolves he thought he knew and it is not long before the werewolf and the witch spend a lot more time together than they had initially anticipated. Because Remington has inherited a house that needs renovating, and Ashford just happens to work in construction. A deal is struck, and soon Ashford discovers that there is a lot more to this grumpy, surly witch than meets the eye...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my NaNo 2020 novel and I am unreasonably proud of how coherent it is, which is why I'm putting it up here. Please enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The early morning was quiet, the room was dark, and Remington Moore was asleep until all of a sudden he wasn’t.</p>
<p class="western">He blinked into the blackness, keeping still and breathing carefully in and out. The alarm clock on his nightstand proclaimed in big, red, friendly digits that it was 5.36 in the morning and Remington almost groaned. Whatever had woken him could at least have had some decency and do it early enough that it was worth the trouble of getting back to sleep.</p>
<p class="western">And as to what had woken him… he shivered. The room was freezing. In the dim light of his alarm, his breath appeared as pink little puffs of smoke. It was also eerily quiet, which was not unusual for a house in the suburbs this early in the morning, but this silence was different. Oppressive. It had a weight that made Remington want to crawl back under the blankets even more than the cold did.</p>
<p class="western">He also could not shake the absolute certainty that there was someone in his room. For a moment, he lay still, heart rabbiting in his throat. His alarm changed from 5.36 to 5.37 and in the gloom, he finally noticed the glowing white figure standing at the foot of his bed</p>
<p class="western">Instantly, Remington relaxed. ‘For <em>fuck’s </em>sake<em>.’</em></p>
<p class="western">‘<em>What,’</em> whined the figure. ‘I didn’t even say anything!’</p>
<p class="western">Remington groaned. He dragged a hand over his face and then switched on the light so he could glare at the apparition. ‘Beau, I <em>told </em>you. Showing up in people’s bedrooms while they sleep is one thing, but going all <em>haunting, </em>that’s just creepy. And annoying.’</p>
<p class="western">Beau glared back. As he was the ghost of a Regency dandy, impeccably dressed in a white coat, a white patterned waistcoat, an intricately tied cravat that reached up to his ears, white breeches and white hessian boots, his glare was born both of a natural talent and over two hundred years of practice. ‘It’s not <em>that </em>creepy. It isn’t even midnight.’</p>
<p class="western">Remington rolled his eyes. ‘What are you even… no, you know what? No. Get out, I’m going back to sleep. See you at breakfast.’</p>
<p class="western">At which he pointedly turned off the light, lay back down and closed his eyes.</p>
<p class="western">‘I just thought you’d like to know,’ came an aggrieved voice, now from the other side of the room. ‘Werewolf’s moving in today. Thought you might want to wake up early and get out while you still can.’</p>
<p class="western">Remington opened his eyes again. After a moment, he sat back up and reached for the light, but the room was empty. Now that the oppressive darkness was gone, the grey of the early morning light filtered through the curtains. And now that the cold was gone, he suddenly felt hot and clammy and his heart was in his throat again, but for an entirely different reason.</p>
<p class="western">‘The <em>what now </em>is moving in today?’</p>
<p class="western">Beau stuck his head through the wall. ‘Oh, you didn’t know? Our new tenant. He’s a werewolf, apparently.’</p>
<p class="western">The temperature in the room dropped again, but Remington didn’t notice. ‘What do you <em>mean </em>he’s a werewolf?’</p>
<p class="western">‘Oh, you know.’ Beau shrugged, which, given that only one shoulder was visible at the moment, came off as impossibly blasé. ‘Big hairy chap, sensitivity to silver, tends to shift shape at the full moon and change into a cruel, bloodthirsty monster that roams the countryside to devour innocent maidens…’</p>
<p class="western">‘Yes, thank you,’ Remington snapped. ‘I know what a werewolf is. But why is he moving in <em>here?’</em></p>
<p class="western">Only Beau’s head was visible now as he gradually made his way through the wall and into the hallway. ‘No idea, old chap. You have to ask Mistress Nell about that.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Oh, I will,’ Remington promised the empty room. ‘Believe me. I will.’</p>
<p class="western">---</p>
<p class="western">From the outside, the apartment building at 28 Willow’s Close seemed like any other. It did not stand out between 27 Willow’s Close, which was a grocery store, and 29 Willow’s Close, which was another apartment building. It was squat, and grey, and unassuming, and the residents usually kept the street side curtains drawn so passersby did not have a chance to peek inside.</p>
<p class="western">Most passersby weren’t even that curious. The neighborhood around Willow’s Close was one of commuters, heading off to work early in the morning and not returning until the early evening, when they made their way home as fast as they could. No one spared the apartment building a second, or even a first glance. Its only purpose to the outside world was to mark the way to the grocery store next door, and that was pretty much it.</p>
<p class="western">Which was a shame, really. Because if anyone had looked closer, they would have noticed the small brass plaque sitting right on top of eight doorbells, the names next to them so weathered that they were barely visible. And if they had looked closer, and if they had noticed the plaque, and if they had <em>read </em>the plaque, then maybe, they would have raised an eyebrow and wondered.</p>
<p class="western">And then, if they had read further and noticed some of the names next to the doorbells, they would have wondered even more.</p>
<p class="western">Because the plaque proclaimed, although no one seemed to notice: <em>Ms. Petronella Larke’s Home for the Wayward and Woebegone.</em></p>
<p class="western">To be honest, not being noticed was kind of the point. Remington worked very hard to ensure that it remained unnoticed. And that what few prying eyes there were, not only stopped their prying but soon found themselves back at home, with the mother of all migraines. That would teach them to look where they were not welcome.</p>
<p class="western">---</p>
<p class="western">After Beau’s bombshell, going back to sleep was impossible. So instead, Remington dragged himself out of bed and into the shower. He stood under the spray for a long time, staring into nothing. Eventually the warm water ran out, but he remained motionless, barely noticing the steam around him evaporating.</p>
<p class="western">A werewolf.</p>
<p class="western">A fucking <em>werewolf.</em></p>
<p class="western">Beau had been right. He should get out while he still…</p>
<p class="western">‘Oy!’</p>
<p class="western">There was a thumping sound and Remington looked down. A small figure, three inches tall, scowled up at him from between the soap suds that had gathered at the edge of the shower curtain. ‘You done? If we gotta clean up this dump, we’d like some juice to do it with, ya get.’</p>
<p class="western">Remington blinked. The good thing about having a cleanup clan of gnomes in the basement was that he never had to worry about things like vacuuming or cleaning his windows. The bad thing about having a cleanup clan of gnomes in the basement, was that they had absolutely no grasp on the concept of privacy.</p>
<p class="western">‘Yeah, just… just give me a minute,’ he said. Arguing was useless. He had learned that in his first week of living here. ‘Oh, one more thing. I do actually need my stitch markers, so if you could leave those? I believe there’s a pair of embroidery scissors that are about to break down, you can take those instead.’</p>
<p class="western">Gnomes also did not really have grasp on the concept of personal property.</p>
<p class="western">‘Sizzers,’ the gnome repeated. Then it nodded and scurried off. Remington waited another minute until he finally started to shiver before he turned off the shower and reached for a towel.</p>
<p class="western">This was going to be a long day.</p>
<p class="western">He stepped out of the shower, toweling his hair and performed his cursory morning check in the mirror. For most people, this would involve inspecting and taming their hair, checking for and/or counting zits and wrinkles and, for a decent chunk of the population, covering up or enhancing whatever areas they liked. Most people, however, do not have to check whether their tattoos are still in the right place every morning.</p>
<p class="western">Remington did. By now, most of his tattoos knew to behave themselves and it had become more of a cursory check, but every now and then, one of them would get out of line. Especially when he was feeling agitated.</p>
<p class="western">A fucking werewolf. Was moving into his house.</p>
<p class="western">He was feeling rather agitated, as it happened.</p>
<p class="western">So, after poking and prodding at his skin for a moment, he shook his head, closed his eyes and focused. When he opened his eyes and looked in the mirror again, his skin was as smooth and unmarred as that of a newborn baby. He could still feel the itch wherever the ink was crawling under his skin, but at least he wouldn’t draw any attention. As he buttoned up his shirt, covering the fact that he had covered up his tattoos, he noticed his fingers were shaking.</p>
<p class="western">A fucking werewolf.</p>
<p class="western">‘Alright,’ he muttered to himself, glaring at his image in the mirror. ‘You got this. No need to panic. He’s not from your pack or else Nell wouldn’t have let him in. Probably hasn’t even heard of you. And he must be a decent guy, or else Nell wouldn’t have let him in. There’s nothing to worry about. Just go down, go to breakfast and then very calmly ask your lovely landlady what the fuck she was thinking by letting a <em>fucking werewolf </em>come and live here.’</p>
<p class="western">At that point, a loud yowling emerged from the living room. Now thoroughly exhausted, even despite the fact that he had only been up for half an hour, Remington buttoned the final button, checked one more time in the mirror for flyaway hairs or runaway tattoos, and then went to serve his cat her breakfast. Because there’s nothing better to dispel a sudden and all-encompassing terror than a cat who hasn’t eaten yet.</p>
<p class="western">Feeding Lady Jane did indeed help. Not in the least because Remington required all his focus to get to the cupboard where the kibble was stored without breaking his neck over fifteen pounds of black fur weaving and purring around his ankles. He managed to make his way through the living room and into the kitchen, where he did not only pour the kibble into Lady Jane’s bowl, but also made himself a very strong cup of coffee. He sipped it slowly, ignoring the munching and crunching next to him as Lady Jane demolished her breakfast. With her fifteen pounds, jet black fur, yellow eyes and her tendency to attack anything that moved, up to and including small children, the name might have come across as a bit sarcastic and Remington suspected that she only barely tolerated him because out of the two of them, he was the one who could handle a tin opener. He also was fully aware that if Lady Jane somehow managed to acquire that ability, their partnership would be over faster than you could say ‘canned tuna’.</p>
<p class="western">He took another sip of coffee. It <em>was </em>strong, but that was not why his heartrate picked up speed again, or why he couldn’t stop shaking.</p>
<p class="western">In hindsight, coffee might nog have been the best idea. Chamomile tea might have been better. Or valerian. Something soothing. Some hemlock perhaps, or deadly nightshade.</p>
<p class="western">Useless. Remington shook himself, drained his cup and set it in the sink. Unfortunately the gnomes did not do the dishes. They had tried, but since their attitude to crockery was very similar to those of the dwarves at the start of The Hobbit, Nell had not-so-kindly requested them to stick to mopping floors.</p>
<p class="western">It was still early. Breakfast wouldn’t be ready for another half hour yet, but Remington didn’t care. He had questions for his landlady, and ready or not, breakfast seemed like the ideal time to get some answers to those questions. Before that fucking werewolf moved in.</p>
<p class="western">---</p>
<p class="western">As it turned out, he was far from the first in his quest for answers. When he got downstairs and opened the door to his landlady’s flat, Remington paused and breathed out.</p>
<p class="western">‘Why didn’t you tell us that he’s a werewolf?’ a pale man in an impeccable suit asked in an icy voice. ‘A <em>werewolf, </em>of all the things! We will have to completely rearrange our fridges, because I suspect there’s nothing he eats but <em>meat</em>.’ He almost gagged on the last word.</p>
<p class="western">‘Mr. Donner,’ Petronella Larke, the landlady, said patiently. ‘I am sure you can come to some sort of arrangement, although I do have to point out the speciesism in your remark. Not <em>all </em>werewolves are carnivores, as I’m sure you will understand.’</p>
<p class="western">Mr. Donner huffed. ‘How often do I have to explain, Nellie. It’s not about the blood. It’s about the <em>focus. </em>I highly doubt that will be a character trait of our new tenant, speciesist though that may be.<em>’</em></p>
<p class="western">‘You know, they do sell vegetarian dog food,’ Remington remarked, closing the door behind him. He nodded at a chubby girl with a shaved head and large brown eyes, who was enjoying both the show and her sushi breakfast. ‘Morning, Orla.’</p>
<p class="western">Orla lifted her chopsticks in response and went back to checking her phone. Apparently she did not care about their new tenant.</p>
<p class="western">‘Ah, Remington,’ Nell said, in an attempt at a jovial voice. ‘You’re early too, I see. Did Beau tell <em>everybody?’</em></p>
<p class="western">‘It seems like it,’ Mr. Donner said sourly. ‘At least someone had the decency to warn us.’</p>
<p class="western">Nell rounded on him again. ‘To <em>warn </em>you? You don’t even know the man! I mean, why should you need a warning? I didn’t warn the others about you, either! Or about the djinn, or about Beau, or about…’</p>
<p class="western">‘I would have appreciated a warning,’ Remington cut in. Nell turned around. ‘Given my history and all.’</p>
<p class="western">Mr. Donner nodded encouragingly. Orla swallowed another piece of ngiri and scowled at her phone.</p>
<p class="western">With her height barely reaching five foot, including the pile of pink cotton candy hair, her jam jar glasses and her tendency to wear knit sweaters with cats on them, most would have thought Ms. Petronella Larke a harmless little old biddy. But she was the owner and landlady of 28 Willow’s Close, and you did not hold dominion over various wayward and woebegone creatures if you did not possess an iron will and, more importantly, the ability to smooth ruffled feathers. Literally, sometimes.</p>
<p class="western">‘Remington,’ she said gently. ‘I understand. And you don’t have to like it, or him, for that matter. But I would have thought that you, <em>all </em>of you, would have a little more faith in my ability to judge characters and to pick my tenants. Also,’ she turned to the wall behind her, ‘Beau, I would appreciate it if you kept your gossip either to yourself or to a more decent hour of the day. I do not appreciate being cornered like this before breakfast. Now, if you will excuse me, I think that would be the oven timer calling my name.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Apologies,’ came a hollow voice from the other room. Remington looked at Mr. Donner and shook his head. ‘At least you only have to worry about your fridge,’ he muttered.</p>
<p class="western">Mr. Donner huffed but did not reply, as that was the moment Nell reappeared, carrying a tray with various yoghurts, granolas and bowls. ‘Remington, be a dear and go and fetch the bread rolls while they’re still warm, will you?’</p>
<p class="western">Remington bit back something sarcastic. It wouldn’t help. Instead, he rolled his eyes and carefully picked his way through Nell’s jungle of side tables, each carrying a load of very fragile knickknacks, and headed towards the kitchen.</p>
<p class="western">From there on, breakfast was an almost ordinary affair. Mr. Donner, who did not usually appear at breakfast, rejoiced at the oatmeal yoghurt. Before he moved into Willow’s Close, Remington had not yet met a vampire, let alone a vegan one; but Mr. Donner had assured him it was perfectly normal. As far as Remington understood it, vampires could replace their blood-based diet with almost anything, as long as they shifted their focus properly. And the Donner clan, of which Mr. Donner was the leader, was <em>very </em>focused on their plant-based diet. Orla ate her sushi, scrolled through her phone and did not really join the conversation, but that was also not unusual. And when Pearl, the dragon who lived above Remington, showed up and immediately proceeded to cover her scrambled eggs with sriracha sauce, Remington could almost imagine that this was going to be a day like any other. Except that he would be early for work, for once, but that was only a good thing.</p>
<p class="western">And then breakfast was cleared away, the dishwasher in the kitchen started humming and before anyone could leave, Nell stood up and rapped one of her many rings against her mug of tea.</p>
<p class="western">‘Alright, listen, all of you. As you may or may not have heard…’ This was accompanied by a dark look at Beau, who had drifted through the wall and was now hovering in front of the TV, ‘we are welcoming a new tenant today. His name is Ashford Leigh, he will be moving into Mr. and Mrs. Bogey’s flat downstairs. And he’s a werewolf. Now,’ she raised her voice over the various groans and moans that filled the room. ‘All I ask is that you be polite to him. You don’t have to like him. But he has his reasons for coming here, <em>as did all of you, </em>and he will be staying with us for as long as he damn well pleases. Do I make myself clear?’</p>
<p class="western">‘Why is he coming here?’ Orla asked, the first thing she had said all morning. ‘And how do we know we can trust him?’</p>
<p class="western">‘You can trust him,’ Nell answered, ‘because I say so. And he can tell you himself why he wants to stay here. He will be here before noon, so whoever is here for lunch will meet him then. Also, the first one to make howling noises at him will be evicted on the spot. Understood?’</p>
<p class="western">There was a general muttering along the lines of ‘yes, alright, if you say so,’ but without much enthusiasm. On his way out, Remington opened the door for Pearl, the dragon. At first glance, she looked human, until you noticed the too-pale eyes for her Asian complexion, the too-sharp teeth and the fact that her sleek black hair was too warm to the touch. ‘She’s serious,’ Pearl muttered. ‘Haven’t heard her break out the old schoolmistress voice in a while.’</p>
<p class="western">Remington made a face. He had stopped shaking, at least, but the half bowl of yoghurt he had managed to eat sat uncomfortably heavy in his stomach. ‘Yeah, well. I’ll stay out of his way, if he stays out of mine.’</p>
<p class="western">Pearl favored him with a shrewd look. ‘You don’t like werewolves.’</p>
<p class="western">Remington huffed a laugh. ‘Does anyone really like werewolves?’</p>
<p class="western">‘No. At least, not me. But it’s like Larke said,’ Pearl replied before heading up the stairs to her own floor. ‘We all have our own reasons for being here.’</p>
<p class="western">And that was exactly the thing, Remington mused as he made his way back to his own flat and sat down at his desk to start his working day. Werewolves were pack animals. Notorious for being loud, raucous and for always being together, running around the countryside like they owned the place. It was one of the few things Remington had not regretted leaving behind.</p>
<p class="western">So what was a single, solitary werewolf doing moving away from his pack (presuming that he had a pack and Remington stopped himself right there because that way lay very dark thoughts) and moving into a shared home in the city?</p>
<p class="western">
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">From the moment he got out of his van, Ash could smell the disapproval wafting out of the building in front of him.</p>
<p class="western">That was ridiculous, of course. Yes, werewolves had a superior sense of smell, but they couldn’t smell emotions, or judgements. If they could, then his relationship with Nick…. He stopped. Nope. Not going there. That was why he was here, to get <em>away</em> from thoughts like that.</p>
<p class="western">Still staring at the dull building towering over him, he took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. Asphalt, exhaust fumes, the lingering of a hundred different perfumes, deodorants and aftershaves, cooking smells and a dozen other scents assaulted him and left him gasping against the side of the his van.</p>
<p class="western">This had been a bad idea. But then again, his life seemed to have been a string of bad ideas until now, one right after the other, with the exception of the last one. And he wasn’t so sure about that one either. He took another slow breath, more careful this time. The assault was still there, but he was prepared now and while it still wasn’t pleasant, it didn’t leave him gagging either.</p>
<p class="western">Alright. He could do this. Taking a careful breath, once, twice, and then once more for good measure, he straightened himself up and crossed the road. It was quiet all around. Ms. Larke had told him that this was a quiet area during the day, and that he would have no trouble as long as he arrived after 9am. It was nearing 10am now, still early but long after the commuting crowd had passed (and hopefully most residents of this building, although Ash did not dare to hope for that). He climbed the steps, checked for a moment if he had the charm Ms. Larke gave him in his pocket, and then fished the keys out of his pocket and opened the door.</p>
<p class="western">He had wondered at the charm at first, but Ms. Larke had ensured him he’d need it. And now, standing on the threshold, he could feel why. This building had been warded to hell and back and if he hadn’t had the charm with him, well. Ash wasn’t sure exactly what would happen, but he doubted it would be pleasant.</p>
<p class="western">‘Makes sense,’ he muttered to himself as he crossed the threshold and stepped into the hallway. There he stopped again, this time looking around in wonder. His first meeting with Ms. Larke had been at his pack’s house; he had not been inside, or even seen this apartment building of hers himself. He had only seen pictures, and pictures didn’t smell. Ms. Larke had, of course. She smelled of tea and gingersnaps and lavender soap and the tiniest hint of iron, which had made Ash just curious enough to accept her offer. Not that he’d had much choice, but still.</p>
<p class="western">This house, however… this house. With the variety of creatures living here, Ash had expected another nasal assault. He knew about the dragons, and the vampire, and the selkie, and he fully expected to smell, in order, smoke, and blood, and fish guts. Instead, there was only the same smell Ms. Larke had carried with her. Tea, cookies, soap and metal. Ash blinked. And then blew out a breath, because this? He could deal with this. It was a far cry from the earth and moss and wet dog that characterized his pack’s home, or the cold cleanliness of the home he and Nick had shared.</p>
<p class="western">He shook himself again. Took another breath, once, twice, and then made his way inside. His steps made no sound on the hardwood floor of the hallway but he still glanced behind him when he reached the door marked Nr. 1. But the building around him was quiet and empty.</p>
<p class="western">‘Oh, hello! You must be our new tenant, mr. Wolf!’</p>
<p class="western">Ash jumped and dropped his keys. The voice had come out of nowhere, as had the person suddenly standing next to him. Looking closer, Ash realized how; it was a ghost, and one who, judging by his old fashioned clothes, had died a long time ago.</p>
<p class="western">‘I’m Nathaniel Allencourt, Viscount Bixby. Please, call me Beau. Everyone does.’ The ghost extended a hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Ash took it. Or tried to take it, because his own hand went right through.</p>
<p class="western">‘And your name is?’ the ghost, Beau, asked politely, apparently unbothered by Ash’ hand flapping uselessly in thin air.</p>
<p class="western">‘Ah. Ashford. Ash,’ Ash managed. He bent down to retrieve his keys and tried to hide his discomfort. He had never met anyone without a smell before, and this ghost… well, he might as well have not been there, according to Ash’ nose. It was disconcerting and not for the first time, Ash wondered if this had been a good idea.</p>
<p class="western">‘Ashford,’ the ghost repeated. ‘Welcome to Ms. Petronella Larke’s Home for the Wayward and Woebegone. Although to be fair, that is quite a mouthful so others have taken to calling it ‘Willow’s Close’ or ‘The Home.’ And I do hope you will feel at home here.’</p>
<p class="western">Ash nodded. The ghost was a bit stuffy, which was probably because he had died hundreds of years ago, and he still did not smell of anything, but he seemed friendly. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered. ‘I hope so too.’</p>
<p class="western">The ghost nodded, gave him another friendly smile and then vanished before Ash had time to think of something else to say. Which was probably for the best, Ash decided. After all, he had a flat to move into. There would be time to meet his new neighbors soon enough.</p>
<p class="western">---</p>
<p class="western">Even though Ms. Larke had told him about the gnomes, Ash was still pleasantly surprised at the state of his new flat. For a start, it was bigger than he’d expected. In the photos Ms. Larke had shown him, it had been stuffed full with the previous tenants’ furniture, and there had been a lot of it. Now, empty, he could see that the living room was large enough, even if he shifted. The kitchen was small and so was the bathroom, but the bedroom was again big enough to fit a kingsize bed and then some. The flat was also completely clean. He had fully expected to do some sweeping or vacuuming at least, but the floors were spotless, the window to the tiny backyard was shining in the early morning sun and even the bathroom was gleaming. There was really nothing else to do than to go back to his van and start lugging boxes.</p>
<p class="western">There weren’t many of them. Nick had taken most of their furniture, and electronics, and kitchenware, so all Ash really had to take inside was a single bed, the one chair he’d kept all those years despite Nick’s protests, a small table, two kitchen chairs, his clothes and other practical necessities, and his books. He would have to make an IKEA run tomorrow, but he had decided to leave that until he had set down the stuff he did have and made a list of everything that was still missing. Anyway, Ms. Larke had told him she did breakfast, lunch and dinner for whoever showed up, so he probably did not have to worry too much about not having any plates. Or cutlery.</p>
<p class="western">‘It’s only fair,’ Nick had told him, and as usual, Ash had believed him. ‘I mean, you’re breaking up with me. That means I can take more stuff with me.’</p>
<p class="western">Now, as he stood and looked around in his sadly unfurnished apartment, Ash wasn’t too sure about that anymore.</p>
<p class="western">His stomach growled. He checked his phone: 1.30 pm. No wonder he was hungry; he had been lifting and carrying stuff for over three hours, without a break. He’d probably missed lunch too, and while Ms. Larke seemed nice enough and would probably be able to get him something if he asked, Ash didn’t want to stoop quite so low yet. There’d be time to test his landlady’s hospitality at dinner tonight. If he didn’t decide to order a pizza instead. He’d heard that was a thing you could do in the city, and he was curious to try it out.</p>
<p class="western">For now, he shoved his phone back in his pocket, grabbed his wallet, charm and keys and headed out to the grocery store next door. It was an unfamiliar landscape of new smells everywhere and he moved slowly down the aisles, taking his time even though his stomach signaled more and more urgency at every turn. At long last, he arrived back at his new flat, carrying three readymade sandwiches, three packets of crisps, three bottles of orange juice and two frozen pizzas. The sandwich deal had been perfect for a starving werewolf and with the frozen pizzas, he did have the option to stay in for dinner if he wanted to.</p>
<p class="western">Oh well. He’d cross that bridge in four hours or so. For now, Ash shoved the pizzas in the freezer, and opened up the door that led to the patch of grass and weeds that Ms. Lark had called a backyard. It hurt his heart a little to see it, reminding him as it did of the rolling field behind his pack’s house, the line of trees at the end the start of a forest where he and his pack could run for miles.</p>
<p class="western">There would be no running here.</p>
<p class="western">Ash stared for a moment longer. Then he turned around and dragged one of the kitchen chairs outside. It was a nice day for November and werewolves didn’t get cold that easily anyway. But they did get hungry easily, so Ash sat down in his old kitchen chair at the back of his brand new flat and went to town.</p>
<p class="western">Three sandwiches, three packets of crisps and three bottles of juice later, he felt a little better. Better enough, at least, that he took out a battered notebook from one of the boxes and started compiling his List of Things to Buy.</p>
<p class="western">It was a long list. So long, in fact, that at the end of it, Ash sat and thought for a moment. He had some money saved still, and there was always his creditcard, and his new job that he would start on Monday. But still.</p>
<p class="western">He looked at the notebook. Tapped his pen twice against the table, and came to a decision. It was nearing 5pm now and outside, dusk was falling rapidly. Ms. Larke hadn’t said when she would have dinner ready, but 5pm would hardly be an unreasonable time to show up. And he could always offer to help her make it, of course</p>
<p class="western">So, swallowing down the flutter of nerves that was crawling up from his stomach, Ash put down the notebook, grabbed his phone and keys, and went upstairs to seek out his landlady’s flat. He briefly wondered why she lived upstairs, and not in this flat with the backyard (such as it was) and the easy accessibility. It was probably too much work to mow the patch of grass and clip the weeds, he decided as he walked upstairs. At least the previous tenants had seemed to thinks so. Ash mentally added gardening tools to his ever-expanding List because despite the fact that he had the opposite of a green thumb, Nick had taken those too.</p>
<p class="western">The door to Ms. Larke’s flat was not opened by the 5 ft tall, cotton candy haired lady, but by a chubby girl with a shaved head and large, brown eyes, who smelled of salt water and wet stones.</p>
<p class="western">‘Hello,’ Ash said when she kept staring at him without letting him in. ‘Uhm. You must be Orla. I’m Ash. The new tenant?’</p>
<p class="western">Orla seemed unimpressed. ‘Right.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Can I… can I come in?’ Ash asked, desperately trying not to start fidgeting under her stare. ‘Only, I wanted to ask Ms. Larke about some things and also I heard that she’d make dinner?’</p>
<p class="western">‘Right.’ Orla still gave no sign of moving.</p>
<p class="western">‘Please?’</p>
<p class="western">‘Orla!’ came a voice from inside the flat. ‘Let him in please!’</p>
<p class="western">Orla gave Ash another long stare and then mercifully stepped aside. ‘Please, do come in,’ she drawled. ‘Welcome to Willow’s Close.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Thanks,’ Ash muttered. He made his way past Orla into the flat, this time not surprised at all to register the smell of gingersnaps, tea and metal. It was strong here, and he finally recognized the metal for what it was: there was power in this house. Presumably it was this power that had warded the place too, and for some reason, Ash highly doubted that the power came from Ms. Larke. Gingerly he stepped around the various side tables to find his landlady at the other end, sitting on a giant sofa that looked like it was as old as the ghost Ash had seen earlier.</p>
<p class="western">‘Ah, Mr. Leigh,’ Ms. Larke said, standing up and giving him a welcoming grin. ‘So good to see you. How did you find your flat?’</p>
<p class="western">‘Perfect, Ms. Larke,’ Ash replied, smiling back in relief. ‘You weren’t lying about those gnomes.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Oh, please.’ Ms. Larke shuddered. ‘Ms. Larke was my grandmother. Call me Nell. And good. I’m glad. Are you settling in alright?’</p>
<p class="western">‘Well enough, for now,’ Ash said. ‘There’s still some things I need, but I’ll get those when I get them.’ He smiled again. ‘Have I thanked you yet? Ms. Larke, I mean, Ms. Nell? Because thank you. Honestly.’</p>
<p class="western">Ms. Petronella rolled her eyes and turned to head to the kitchen. ‘Yes, you have,’ said loudly, looking pointedly at Orla who sat at the kitchen table, glaring at a laptop. ‘And honestly, it is no trouble. I’m glad to have a full house again. And if you can help me out here and there with some light maintenance work, then I think it’ll soon be a case of you helping me, instead of the other way around. Isn’t that right? Now, here,’ she continued, handing him a sheet of paper. ‘I’m glad you came along before dinner. If you could fill out any allergies or dietary restrictions you might have? I will try to be as accommodating as I can, but there’s a pretty wide range of preferences here so I can’t make any hard promises. If you’re not sure, you can always bring your own if you like, that’s what Orla and the dragons do because sushi and ghost peppers aren’t to everybody’s taste. How do you feel about vegan dishes? I’m sorry, I know werewolves usually like meat but is it necessary for you to survive? Or can you go without? I mean, I’d be happy to cook you up some chicken on the side if you...’</p>
<p class="western">‘Vegan?’ Ash asked. Orla snorted.</p>
<p class="western">Ms. Nell blinked for a moment. ‘Oh, right. I mean, vegan, it’s what the vampires do. They don’t do animal products. So, no meat, dairy, eggs, etcetera. I don’t know if it’s something you can do though. Rem probably knows. We’ll ask him later. You know what,’ she said, pulling out pots and pans and setting up what looked like a restaurant level mise en place. ‘I’ve got some leftover pasta bolognese in the freezer. I’ll heat that up for you, separate pan so no one gets offended, and then we’ll see about getting you some fresh food tomorrow. How’s that sound?’</p>
<p class="western">Ash thought it sounded very confusing, but didn’t say that. ‘It sounds perfect. Really, thank you so much.’</p>
<p class="western">‘No worries, no worries,’ Ms. Petronella said, brandishing an onion in one hand and one of the biggest knives Ash had ever seen in the other. ‘Now. Until we sorted out the vegan issue, I’m not sure it’d be a great idea to have you help in the kitchen just yet. My apologies, I will make sure to talk to Mr. Donner again tonight, but I don’t want to ruffle his feathers any further than strictly necessary. So, why don’t you sit down next to Orla there and try to get to know each other a little bit?’</p>
<p class="western">Another huff from the kitchen table told Ash loud and clear what Orla thought of that suggestion. But he swallowed his pride, turned around and sat down, determined to make this work. ‘Hey.’</p>
<p class="western">Orla cast him a sidelong glance and did not reply.</p>
<p class="western">‘Perhaps you can help me,’ Ash went on. ‘You know, my ex, he took a lot of stuff with him when we broke up, and I need to replace it somehow. Do you happen to know any good secondhand stores around here?’</p>
<p class="western">That finally did get her attention. ‘Ex?’ she asked, brown eyes suddenly on fire. ‘Your ex took your stuff?’</p>
<p class="western">Ash nodded, not sure how to reply. Also not sure if he could reply, because all of a sudden, his throat was constricting and the room seemed to warp at the edges of his vision. He took a deep breath. Then another, and another, looking at his knees and focusing on the faded jeans because if he looked at anyone else right now, things would get bad again. The way they had been only a couple of weeks ago, and they had been very bad indeed.</p>
<p class="western">‘What’s his name?’ Orla asked. The dispassionate voice was gone; instead there was a razor sharp focus and an edge that did not bode well for Nick. ‘Just give me his name and location, and I promise I can get your stuff back and then some.’</p>
<p class="western">Ash blinked. ‘Uhm.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Only, I’ve been looking for <em>my </em>ex for ages because, you know. Uhm. No, I guess you don’t but. He took something from me. And I haven’t been able to get it back but if you tell me about <em>your </em>ex, then at least I’ll feel like I’m <em>doing</em> something.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Oh.’ Ash paused. And then realization hit him and his jaw dropped. ‘Wait. When you say your ex took something from you...’</p>
<p class="western">Orla stared resolutely at her laptop. ‘Yup.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Oh.’ Ash fell quiet. A selkie’s coat was a precious and extremely personal possession; he could not imagine what kind of person would steal such a thing, the more because it would be of absolutely no use to anyone else besides its owner.</p>
<p class="western">‘So, you know,’ Orla said, with terribly false sounding cheer. ‘If you got duped by your ex, trust me. I know what that feels like. It sucks. But,’ she turned her laptop around and now Ash could see what she had been doing. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like she was keeping an eye on a number of traffic cameras, while also searching through a lot of probably not public records. Ash did not know much about hacking, or the internet in general, but this looked impressive. It also looked very illegal, but he chose not to say that. ‘I’ve been working on my revenge plan for over two years now. And I’d <em>love </em>to get a practice run, so. What’s your guy’s name and where does he live?’</p>
<p class="western">The ice now thoroughly broken, Ash spent the next thirty minutes or so chatting with Orla. He mostly tried to avoid talking about Nick, and instead tried to focus on the things he planned to do in the city: his new job, decorating his flat and perhaps even make a start at cleaning up the backyard. Beau the ghost joined them after a while, and it turned out that Ash had not been wrong: he was in fact over two hundred years old.</p>
<p class="western">‘8 June 1821,’ he said glumly. ‘Can you believe it? One month before the coronation of the century, and I have to go and die from an, ah, broken heart.’</p>
<p class="western">Ash could believe it. He’d believe almost anything the ghost told him, until Orla shook her head and whispered that it was not, in fact, all true. ‘Broken heart, my ass,’ she murmured when Beau had left to join Ms. Petronella in the kitchen. ‘Broken tooth, rather. Nasty, as far as I heard. Don’t blame him for polishing it up a bit, but you know. That’s dandies for you.’</p>
<p class="western">Ash agreed, if only because he did not know enough about dandies to do anything else. But Beau seemed nice enough, as did Orla now that she had thawed to him, and Ms. Petronella was making him dinner and for a moment, after months of uncertainty and heartbreak, things looked like they might turn out OK for once.</p>
<p class="western">And then the door to Ms. Petronella’s flat opened and Ash looked up to see the witch.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Remington had had a very long day. The rocky start was one thing, and his mood had not improved much when he opened up his email and discovered that one of his least favorite clients had send him a lengthy email, describing in great detail how the latest pattern she had bought from him could have been improved. After he had shot her a quick reply along the lines of ‘thank you for your feedback it is very valuable to me please let us know we are oh so happy to hear what you have to say’ and after he had managed to convince himself that this time, Mrs. Bucket did NOT need a discount, it had already been close to lunch. He had almost forgotten all about the werewolf thing, spending the rest of the afternoon editing his latest pattern by going over and over and over one particularly finicky row that he was sure he <em>could </em>manage to get working, if only the universe would cooperate. By 5pm, he was ready to set the entire thing on fire and himself with hit.</p>
<p class="western">And then his phone buzzed with a message from Nell. <em>Do you know if werewolves need meat to survive? Or can Ash eat what the vampires are having?</em></p>
<p class="western">Right. The werewolf. All of a sudden, Remington was wide awake again. He saved the edits to his pattern, closed the file and shut down his computer before he typed out a reply. <em>No idea. But can’t we just feed him the vegan stuff and find out?</em></p>
<p class="western">Nell’s reply didn’t take long. <em>He’s making friends with Orla. I’d like to keep him around for a bit.</em></p>
<p class="western">That caused Remington to frown. In the two years that he’d known Orla, they had exchanged maybe over a dozen words. Most of them ‘good morning’ and ‘bye’. If the werewolf had managed to ‘make friends’ with her on his first day, then that was impressive. And Remington wasn’t sure if he liked it.</p>
<p class="western">He texted back. <em>Alright, alright. I don’t know. Maybe try one of Maria Donner’s curries and see what happens? You can always give him some meat if he starts going on a rampage or something.</em></p>
<p class="western">Nell replied with a thumbs up. Remington stared at it for a moment, then shoved his phone in his pocket, put away the yarn and hook that he had been working with and left his flat with a gnawing pit in his stomach. He briefly contemplated heading into the store and buying himself one of those frozen dinners, so he could put off meeting the werewolf for another day, but Nell would probably see right through that and drag him down by his ears anyway.</p>
<p class="western">There was really nothing else for it. No matter how much he did not want to, Remington was going to drag himself home and face this werewolf, head on. Come what may.</p>
<p class="western">---</p>
<p class="western">Only a handful of minutes later, Remington stood on the threshold of Nell’s flat and came face to face with the werewolf for the first time. The werewolf had cropped dark hair, dark eyes and a large face with a kindly expression, but that was not the first thing Remington noticed about him.</p>
<p class="western">Because Remington’s first thought was: <em>jesus he’s big. </em>His second thought was: <em>oh my fucking god he’s huge. </em>And his third thought was: <em>he is probably </em>terrifying <em>when he shifts because holy shit he is gigantic.</em></p>
<p class="western">The very big werewolf looked up and his eyes met Remington’s. And that was when the fourth and final thought hit him. <em>Oh no he’s hot.</em></p>
<p class="western">The werewolf <em>was </em>hot, especially in that ‘oh shit he’s built like a brick shithouse’ kind of way. Remington vaguely recalled Nell saying something about construction work, and he could believe that: the werewolf looked like he could pick up Remington with no trouble and that was a thought Remington squashed <em>very </em>firmly because <em>no. </em></p>
<p class="western">He blinked, unable to move or say anything. He just kept staring at the scene in front of him. Orla almost smiling behind her laptop, which was an unsettling sight in itself. Beau in the background, watching back and forth between him and the <em>huge really very big </em>werewolf like he was watching a tennis match. And the <em>terrifying, gigantic </em>werewolf, who tilted his head, narrowed his eyes and flared his nostrils, ever so slightly.</p>
<p class="western">Catching a scent. Remington knew that gesture all too well.</p>
<p class="western">‘Hi,’ he finally managed. It came out as a croak and he tried again. ‘Uhm. Hi.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Hi,’ the werewolf replied, still frowning. Now Orla had joined Beau in watching the tennis match and Remington swallowed. ‘You’re Ashford?’</p>
<p class="western">The werewolf nodded. He also seemed to be at a loss for words, for some reason, which made Remington feel a little better. Just a little.</p>
<p class="western">‘That’s Remington,’ Orla supplied when neither of them seemed to continue the conversation. ‘He’s our witch.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Yes,’ the werewolf, Ashford, said slowly. ‘Yes, I gathered that. Hi. Uhm. Helllo.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Riveting conversation,’ Beau muttered, just loud enough to be heard. Remington shot him a glare and then, finally, managed to move himself over the threshold and over to the table. He sat down at the farthest end, as far away from Ashford as possible. The werewolf did not seem to mind. He kept watching Remington with that curious look on his face, as if there was something not quite right and he wanted to figure it out.</p>
<p class="western">Remington wished him luck. There were a number of things that were ‘not quite right’ as far as he was concerned, and of those things, he was pretty sure only one was detectable by smell. Oh well. It wasn’t the first time he was outed on scent. And it wouldn’t be the last one either.</p>
<p class="western">‘Do you know you have a bird on your forehead?’ Orla asked innocently. ‘A small one. He’s pretty cute.’</p>
<p class="western">Ashford coughed, sounding suspiciously like he was trying to stifle a laugh. Remington swore and, after shooting the entire room a death glare for good measure, bolted out of the chair and into Nell’s bathroom. At least there were no werewolves in there, staring at him like they were trying to figure out all his secrets.</p>
<p class="western">He looked in the mirror and discovered that there was in fact a bird on his forehead. Remington had no idea when his glamour had disappeared, but he suspected it had been around the time he’d entered Nell’s flat and saw the werewolf.</p>
<p class="western">‘Oy,’ he told the little wren, poking at his forehead where the bird was brushing its feathers without a care in the world. ‘You. Get down from there.’</p>
<p class="western">The wren looked up. If it could have stuck out his tongue, it would have done so. Remington rolled his eyes. ‘I’m serious. Either you get down now, or I’ll cast another glamour, you hear me?’</p>
<p class="western">The wren shook itself and then hopped down, across Remington’s temple and down his neck until he could feel it nestling itself right under his collarbone. ‘Alright,’ he said softly, breathing in deeply and rubbing the spot on his shirt gently with his index finger. ‘Thank you.’</p>
<p class="western">Then he looked down and sighed. ‘Oh, come on.’</p>
<p class="western">---</p>
<p class="western">When he rejoined the others, Pearl had also come downstairs and was watching the blossoming friendship between Ashford and Orla with a mixture of surprise and dread. That changed, however, when Pearl noticed Remington. Or rather, Remington’s arms.</p>
<p class="western">‘Oof,’ was her succinct remark. ‘That hasn’t happened in a while.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Yeah, well,’ Remington tried. ‘It still happens. Sometimes.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Uh-huh,’ was the eloquent response. ‘Your arms just happen to get covered in briars and roses. For no reason. Cool.’</p>
<p class="western">Remington chose to ignore this. He sat down and stared at the tablecloth, willing everybody around him to shut the fuck up.</p>
<p class="western">‘Doesn’t that hurt?’ came a voice from the other end of the table.</p>
<p class="western">Remington sighed. And looked up to see the werewolf staring at him again, because of course he was.</p>
<p class="western">‘I mean,’ Ashford said, ‘they move around. Under your skin, and they’re all full of thorns and everything. I was just wondering… doesn’t it hurt?’</p>
<p class="western">Remington mentally added <em>not the brightest bulb in the box </em>to his first impression of Ashford Leigh. ‘No,’ he said as patiently as he could manage. ‘It doesn’t hurt. It itches a little, sometimes, but that’s it.’</p>
<p class="western">Ashford nodded, as if he understood completely. Remington doubted it, but didn’t feel like volunteering more information. ‘It looks cool, though,’ Ashford said quickly. ‘I mean. I’ve seen tattoos before, our witch has them too, but they don’t move around. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with moving tattoos before.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Yeah well,’ Remington said sourly, ‘I’m one of a kind.’</p>
<p class="western">Ashford looked like he was going to say something. Remington was sure he did not want to hear it, but before he could do or say anything, Nell appeared, carrying a lasagna dish large enough to drown in. ‘So, aren’t we all getting along! How lovely!’ she chirrupped, glancing only sideways at Remington, who knew he still looked unhappy. ‘Now, can I interest anyone in a healthy slice of vegan moussaka?</p>
<p class="western">---</p>
<p class="western">The rest of the dinner was awkward, to say the least. Orla and Ashford got on like a house on fire, which concerned the other residents of Willow’s Close to no end. Especially when they discovered the reason behind this sudden and intense friendship.</p>
<p class="western">‘His ex’s a dick too,’ Orla said between two bites of sushi. ‘So, you know. We’ve formed a Bad Ex Club. None of you can join.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Right,’ Pearl said. ‘Even if, you know, one of my ex used to say that...’</p>
<p class="western">‘Nope,’ Orla said. ‘Don’t matter what they said. We all say things. But Ash’ ex took his stuff and you just don’t do that.’</p>
<p class="western">Remington could almost hear the click in everyone’s mind when this piece of information landed. ‘Ah,’ he said, as politely as he could. Because damn it, now he was curious. ‘Bad breakup?’</p>
<p class="western">Ashford winced a little and Remington almost regretted his question. ‘Yeah. Uhm. You could say that.’</p>
<p class="western">‘I thought werewolves mated for life,’ Pearl cut in, and Ashford winced even further. Remington, interest now thoroughly piqued, replied for him. ‘Not always,’ he said slowly. ‘Most of them do. But it’s not… it’s not a given thing. I’m sorry.’</p>
<p class="western">That last part was directed at Ashford, who shot him a grateful look. No matter his distaste for werewolves in general, Remington could relate to breaking away from a bond that you had taken for granted.</p>
<p class="western">‘Is that why you’re here?’ Pearl asked. Ashford winced again and Remington half wished she’d stop. The other half of him was glad she asked. ‘You’re trying to get away from your ex?’</p>
<p class="western">‘Sort of,’ Ashford replied after a moment’s pause. ‘You see, he’s… he was from the pack right next to mine, so we, we kept running into each other and then, I don’t know, but my own pack, they… they’re great and they tried to help but uhm. Yeah.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Pack life can be intense,’ Remington translated. This earned him another grateful look from Ashford. Remington also wished that that would stop. ‘It can be great, but sometimes… sometimes you just need some time off.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Exactly,’ Ashford said. He quickly speared another piece of pasta on to his fork and took a bite. Then: ‘Is that why you’re here too?’</p>
<p class="western">Silence fell across the table. Orla paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, Pearl accidentally squeezed half the bottle of chili oil over her plate and even Mr. Donner, who had not said a word until now, frowned.</p>
<p class="western">Nell cleared her throat. ‘Ah. Ashford, why don’t you ask….’</p>
<p class="western">Remington put down his fork and stared at Ashford. At the werewolf. At the big, dumb werewolf who stared back with a curious innocence that had to be real. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘Not really.’</p>
<p class="western">‘It’s just that I’ve never heard of...’ Ashford started. But Remington didn’t hear him finish, because at that point, he had shoved his plate away, gotten up from his chair and fled out of Nell’s flat and back up to his own as fast as he could.</p>
<p class="western">---</p>
<p class="western"><a id="__DdeLink__278_2143737390" name="__DdeLink__278_2143737390"></a> Miracle of miracles, the gnomes had left his stitch markers alone. Remington wasn’t sure how long he had been rhythmically weaving his hook in and out of the yarn, and he wasn’t sure he cared. He only cared about his tension, making sure that each and every stitch was exactly the same as he worked. Yarn over, insert hook, yarn over, pull through, yarn over, pull through two, yarn over, pull through two. Repeat. Yarn over, pull through, turn. Yarn over, insert hook, yarn over, pull through, yarn over, pull through two, yarn over, pull through two. Repeat. Row after row, until he could almost close his eyes and work from muscle memory alone. The stitch markers he had used to set up his foundation chain clattered softly against the coffee table as the work moved from left to right, was flipped over, moved again.</p>
<p class="western">Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, <em>stupid. </em>To feel <em>sorry </em>for a <em>werewolf. </em></p>
<p class="western">He should have known. Should have known from the moment he walked in and saw that stare, those curious dark eyes. Should have known that the question would come.</p>
<p class="western">And he had gone in anyway, and sat down for dinner. And if that hadn’t been enough, then he’d had to go and join in the conversation, instead of just eating his moussaka and <em>staying out of the werewolf’s way. </em></p>
<p class="western">He’d had to go and join in the conversation. About werewolf things.</p>
<p class="western">
  <em>Stupid.</em>
</p>
<p class="western">Yarn over. Insert hook. Yarn over. Pull through… he dropped the loop. Swore, tried to retrieve it, and in the process, made such a mess of the stitch that he pulled out the hook and went back, frogging and frogging and frogging until he was almost at the start of the row again and his eyes were stinging and his breath was coming in short, painful gasps and.</p>
<p class="western">There was a knock at the door.</p>
<p class="western">And even without a werewolf’s superior sense of smell, Remington knew exactly who it was.</p>
<p class="western">He stared at his work. If he’d put a bit more effort into it, it might even turn out like something he could sell. He hadn’t thought about it, just grabbed the first ball of yarn that was within reach and he hadn’t really put any thought into the foundation chain but if he kept going like this, he might be able to turn it into a very simple baby blanket. The yarn was a light variegated cotton, with various pastel pinks and blues and greens interspersed with a nice cream that made the whole thing look like a fluffy …</p>
<p class="western">Another knock. Remington sighed. And then, because he knew something about the stubbornness of werewolves, he got up. Best to get this over with.</p>
<p class="western">To his complete lack of surprise, Ashford Leigh was standing in the hallway, a sheepish look on his face that would have been funny if Remington had been able to laugh.</p>
<p class="western">‘Hey,’ the werewolf started when it appeared Remington wasn’t going to say anything. ‘Uhm. I’m just… I uhm, I’m sorry? I, I feel like I said something I shouldn’t have and the others, they said you’ve got some history with werewolves but they didn’t want to say any more and they said I shouldn’t ask you either and that’s fair, I guess, but uhm. I’m sorry.’</p>
<p class="western">A groveling werewolf. Remington blinked. That was a first.</p>
<p class="western">‘And if you need me to do anything or something, like, I mean, I can stay out of your way if you want, let me know if you’ll be at breakfast or dinner or something and I’ll stay away, it’s no problem and I’ll try not to shift if that’s what you need...’</p>
<p class="western">‘That’s OK,’ Remington cut in, to his own surprise. ‘You don’t. You don’t need to do that. Thanks.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Oh.’ Ashford’s shoulders sagged a bit. ‘OK.’</p>
<p class="western">‘I do have. A history with werewolves,’ Remington continued slowly, still not sure why he was explaining himself. ‘And to be perfectly honest, I am not happy that Nell chose you to come and live here.’</p>
<p class="western">Ashford’s shoulders sagged even further and Remington forced himself not to roll his eyes. This man, despite his size, had the demeanor of a newborn puppy. He could already see it was almost impossible to get upset with him. ‘But I’ll manage,’ he said, cutting himself off before he started explaining what exactly his <em>history </em>was. ‘Thank you. Uhm. Goodnight.’</p>
<p class="western">He moved to close the door, but Ashford wasn’t done yet. He looked up, a tentative smile on his face. ‘Oh, one more thing. Orla said, she said that you’re the one to ask about secondhand stores? I mean, she also said that she could get Nick to get all my stuff back but, you know. Fresh start and all that, I think I’d rather….’</p>
<p class="western">He trailed off at the disbelief on Remington’s face. ‘Oh, I mean, you don’t have to… No worries. Nevermind. I’ll go and, check Google Maps or something. Goodnight.’</p>
<p class="western">He turned and was already halfway down the hallway when Remington called: ‘Wait.’</p>
<p class="western">Ashford turned around again, looking unsure. Remington breathed out. ‘Wait here. I’ll… I’ll write you down a list of stores you could try.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Oh.’ There was that smile again. ‘Uhm. Yeah. That’s perfect. Thanks.’</p>
<p class="western">Remington shook his head and went back inside, grabbing his notebook and pen that he’d left on top of his latest project. The sad might-be-a-baby-blanket lay crumpled in a heap on the sofa where he’d left it. From the other corner of the sofa, Lady Jane was already eyeing it as a potential throne, but Remington made no move to safeguard it. If she confiscated it, then, so be it.</p>
<p class="western">He marched over to his desk, thought for a minute and then quickly wrote down five stores and their addresses, even going so far as to mark a couple of items Ashford would be sure to find in each one. When he returned to the door, he found the werewolf waiting politely outside, although he had clearly been trying to check out as much of Remington’s flat as he could. Remington wanted to be annoyed at that, but if he was honest, it was exactly what he’d do if he was standing at the werewolf’s door.</p>
<p class="western">‘Here you go,’ he said, handing Ashford the piece of paper. ‘These should get you what you need. Just don’t try to haggle, they’re doing good work and they need the money.’</p>
<p class="western">Ashford nodded, looking from Remington to the paper and back. ‘I won’t. Thanks.’</p>
<p class="western">And with that, he vanished downstairs. Leaving Remington to stare at a dark and empty hallway. He stood there for a long time, breathing slowly in and out, before he went back inside to discover that his frantic first attempt at a baby blanket was now, in fact, the sole property of Lady Jane.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The witch’s flat had not been what he’d expected. No, scratch that: the <em>witch </em>had not been what Ash expected. Of course, his only frame of reference had been his own pack witch. Lewis was short but stocky, a calm and reassuring presence wherever he went. He exuded a quiet competence and Ash had never doubted that wherever Lewis went, he would find things going exactly the way he wanted them to.</p>
<p class="western">Remington was nothing like that. He was short, but that was as far as the comparison went. Where Lewis was stocky, Remington was thin and wiry. Lewis was blond and blue-eyed; Remington was dark, with sharp grey eyes that looked like a thunderstorm. Lewis was a beacon of calm and quiet; Remington, as far as Ash had seen, was a very nervous man. Of course, that might also have something to do with the fact that he obviously had something against werewolves, but somehow, Ash doubted that. There was a subtle difference between sudden nervousness and a perpetual state of almost-anxiety, and Ash had become pretty good at distinguishing the two.</p>
<p class="western">There was of course also the fact that Lewis had been born a guy, and Remington hadn’t. That had confused Ash when he’d first picked up the witch’s scent, but the penny had dropped quickly enough. He had not met a trans person before, but he wasn’t one for complicated thinking: Remington looked like a guy, talked and walked like a guy, so he obviously was a guy. Simple as that. It was none of Ash’ business to inquire any further.</p>
<p class="western">As he made his way downstairs, clutching the list the witch had given him in his hand, Ashford reflected that Lewis’ power had been an easy thing, noticeable but unassuming until called upon.</p>
<p class="western">That had not been the case with this Remington. It was odd, after having the scent of iron in his nose all day, and he’d fully expected to be blown away by the power of this witch whenever he met him. Especially after seeing the wards around the building, because that was some serious witchery. But instead, Remington’s power had been a small thing, barely noticeable. Barely there.</p>
<p class="western">This puzzled Ash. He was sure that Remington was the one who had warded Willow’s Close, and that he was the source of the lingering power he could smell everywhere. But seeing the man himself, Ash almost had a hard time believing it. If he hadn’t known better, if he had just met him on the street or something, he might even have thought that Remington had no power at all.</p>
<p class="western">It was weird. Ash wasn’t sure what to make of it. Which was why he had taken the opportunity of checking out the witch’s flat while waiting at the doorstep, and what he’d seen there had only confused him further. He had seen why Orla had said Remington would know about secondhand stores; almost none of his furniture looked new. There had been a faded green corduroy sofa (with a huge black cat that had given him even more of a stink eye than Remington had), a couple of ancient bookcases leaning against each other for support and the desk the witch had sat down at to write the list, had looked like a proper antique. But instead of looking ratty or shabby, the witch had managed to make it look so comfortable that Ash had had to hold himself back from coming inside and making himself at home.</p>
<p class="western">Ashford stopped at his front door as a thought hit him. Home. There could be power in a home, he knew. He frowned. There was something there, a piece that would make this picture clear, but he couldn’t reach it.</p>
<p class="western">Maybe he should ask Lewis.</p>
<p class="western">Or maybe not. He doubted Remington would thank him if he went and talked about the witch behind his back.</p>
<p class="western">He set the list down on his kitchen counter and stared at it. Remington had been kinder than he thought: there wasn’t just one store, but half a dozen, all accompanied by a spidery scrawl. <em>Good book selection, no clothes. Large store, has the most furniture. Good for vintage knickknacks and decoration, Nell comes here a lot. Mainly clothes, but also a decent kitchenware selection.</em></p>
<p class="western">This would help. This would really help, Ash thought as he folded the note in half. He breathed out, letting go of a tension he didn’t know was there. Perhaps he wouldn’t make friends with the witch immediately, but this was a good start.</p>
<p class="western">---</p>
<p class="western">The next few days were oddly quiet. Especially for someone who was used to living in a house filled with over a dozen extremely extroverted people, the quiet of Willow’s Close was new, but not unwelcome. Ash kept mostly to himself, busy as he was settling into his new place. He had scoured the secondhand stores Remington had given him and came back with most of the items on his list, for half the price he’d expected to pay; he resolved to find a way to thank the witch properly, because it might have been just a small act of kindness to him, but to Ash it meant that he could truly, finally, look around in his new flat, at his faux leather sofa that still looked brand new, at his stack of flower pots in the corner (he hadn’t had time to find a gardening store yet, but that could wait), at the filled up kitchen cupboards, and feel… not happy, exactly. It had been a long time since he had been truly happy, and he suspected it might take him a while to get there again. But it was good, and it was more than he’d expected and therefore, he would find Remington something he liked. To say thank you.</p>
<p class="western">As for the backyard, he only came there to shift once every day, when he was pretty sure no one from the neighboring apartment buildings could see. It was necessary and it felt good, stretching his muscles and feeling his human self fade to the background. The wolf was so much less complicated. The wolf knew about Nick, of course, but wolves did not dwell on past things. For them, there was only the now, and now, the wolf usually wanted to run.</p>
<p class="western">Well. That had to wait. The full moon wasn’t for another two weeks. He wasn’t sure what he’d do then; he knew he could easily drive back up to his old pack’s home, just for the night, but that might be a bit too soon. The alternative, however, of staying inside and wait for the moon to set, was equally unattractive. And as for shifting and then going to take a stroll about town, that was out of the question entirely.</p>
<p class="western">Maybe he could ask Nell if there was a park or something nearby. Or a forest.</p>
<p class="western">Aside from dinners, he didn’t see much of his new neighbors. After the awkward first night, Ash had decided to eat his breakfast by himself, so at least the witch wouldn’t have to face him first thing in the morning. He wasn’t sure why he’d decided that; it had just seemed right. And anyway, he was no great cook, but he could make himself toast and scrambled eggs with bacon easily enough. It was no big deal. Ash wasn’t sure if Remington knew why he didn’t join the others for breakfast, but even if he did, he didn’t say anything. Instead, at dinner, he kept to himself mostly, eating quietly and only occasionally joining in in the conversation. Ash felt a little bad about that, because he suspected that before he’d moved in, the witch would have been a lot more sociable. But on the other hand, whatever the witch’s situation was, it wasn’t Ash’ fault and he refused to lock himself up entirely because his presence might make someone else uncomfortable.</p>
<p class="western">Then, after 9am, the house was usually empty, aside from his landlady and Beau the ghost. Orla worked at a store that sold supplies for keeping tropical fish; Remington, she had told him, ran an online store from his flat, although she hadn’t told him what it was the witch was selling; the vampires were asleep, obviously. Once the gnomes had swept and mopped the place, they retreated to the basement with whatever stolen loot they could carry and as for Pearl the dragon, she owned a jeweler’s store not far from Willow’s Close. There was one pair of residents Ash had not met yet. They lived next door to Remington and Orla had told him that he wasn’t likely to meet them anytime soon.</p>
<p class="western">‘Djinn,’ she’d said. ‘Very ancient, very powerful, but also very traumatized. You know, spending thousands of years as virtual slaves of mortals and such. We leave them alone, poor things.’</p>
<p class="western">Ash had thought about that for a moment, felt a lump of cold horror in the pit of his stomach, and resolved to give that flat a wide berth from that moment on.</p>
<p class="western">So, all in all, things were quiet, but good. Even the dinners were a little less awkward as he’d gotten to know the others. He knew now that Mr. Donner was the head of an entire coven of vampires, who all lived in the attic; no one knew for sure how many there were and members seemed to join and leave at random, but they were all Donners and they were all vegan. After a bit of a kerfuffle, Ash had promised Mr. Donner that he would try some of his wife’s curry, which went a long way to break the ice between them. As it turned out, Mrs. Donner’s cooking was on par with that of Ms. Nell’s, so Ash had not regretted his promise in the slightest.</p>
<p class="western">He now also knew what had happened to Orla. She’d told him everything: how she had been out at a club in Brighton one night and how she’d met a guy ‘with the most beautiful green eyes you’ve ever seen, honestly’. How she’d gone home with him, because even selkies like to have fun every once in a while. How it <em>had </em>been fun, right up until the next day, when she’d come home after work and discovered that someone had broken into her flat and taken her coat.</p>
<p class="western">‘Just the coat,’ she’d said, voice barely trembling but her shoulders so tense that it hurt Ash to look at it. ‘So he must’ve known. And I haven’t seen him since, but trust me. I will find him, I will get my coat back and then he will wish he’d never been born.’</p>
<p class="western">Ash believed her. Especially when Pearl had voiced her support. For some reason, Ash suspected that one single selkie coat thief would be a match for the furious owner of said coat when she was backed by a real life fire-breathing dragon. He liked Orla, and wished her all the best in her search; he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what was left of the guy afterwards, however.</p>
<p class="western">---</p>
<p class="western">On Sunday, the day before he started his new job, he called his mum. Annabelle Leigh answered at the second ring and Ash would be lying if he didn’t feel just a little bit homesick at hearing her voice.</p>
<p class="western">‘Hey cub,’ his mum said and god, Ash missed her. ‘How are you? Are you settling in alright? How is Ms. Larke?’</p>
<p class="western">‘Hey mum.’ Ash paused. ‘Yeah. I’m fine. The flat is OK, I’ve got some new stuff, so. I’m doing OK.’</p>
<p class="western">‘That’s great,’ his mum said, a smile in her voice. ‘Really, cub. I am so proud of you. We all are. Have you met your neighbors yet?’</p>
<p class="western">‘Yeah. They’re cool, mostly.’ Ash told his mum about his new neighbors, with the exception of a certain witch. It probably didn’t matter, but it didn’t feel right, somehow.</p>
<p class="western">‘Well, that sounds fantastic! And how about your new job, are you looking forward to starting tomorrow?’</p>
<p class="western">Ash smiled. Ms. Nell had set him up with a friend of hers, a contractor much like the one he used to work for back home. ‘Yeah. The boss seems nice and Ms. Nell said I could just ask him to have the night after full moons off, as long as I tell him in advance. He won’t ask questions. And, you know. It’ll be good to get working again, after...’</p>
<p class="western">After quitting his job because as it turned out, working on a construction project his ex-boyfriend had commissioned, wasn’t the greatest idea in the world.</p>
<p class="western">‘I’m happy to hear it,’ his mum said gently. ‘I mean, we all miss you, of course. Everyone says hi.’</p>
<p class="western">There was a chorus of ‘HI’ in the background and Ash laughed. ‘Yeah. Say hi back for me. And uhm, please ask them not to murder Nick when I’m gone?’</p>
<p class="western">‘TOO LATE’ someone hollered. Ash couldn’t make out whose voice it was, but he laughed again. ‘Thanks guys.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Nick is still alive.’ His mum sounded disappointed. Ash knew that feeling. ‘His, ah. His house was finished last week, and I heard he’ll move in soon.’</p>
<p class="western">Ash swallowed. ‘Good for him.’</p>
<p class="western">‘I’m sorry, darling.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Yeah.’ Ash fell quiet. ‘Me too.’</p>
<p class="western">---</p>
<p class="western">‘Ah, you must be Ash.’ Leonard Summers, Ash’ new boss stretched out a hand. He was a tall man though not as tall as Ash himself, and he was lanky, with a mop of pale blond hair that was edging on grey. Small blue eyes set in a weathered face looked at him shrewdly. ‘One of Ms. Larke’s people, right?’</p>
<p class="western">‘Yes,’ Ash replied, shaking the man’s hand. ‘I mean. I’m Ash. And Ms. Larke told me about you.’</p>
<p class="western">‘Good, good.’ Mr. Summers smiled. ‘I know you lot have your funny ways sometimes, but if Larke says you’re good, then you’re good. So, if you need anything, any ac-com-mo-dat-ions or whatever, just let me know, yeah?’</p>
<p class="western">Ash nodded. ‘Of course. Thank you. There’s just the one thing...’</p>
<p class="western">---</p>
<p class="western">After that first hurdle, the rest of the day went smoothly. Mr. Summers hadn’t asked any questions, like Ms. Nell had said; he just looked at Ash for a second and then said: ‘OK, but I need a date, you understand. You might now by heart when the next full moon is, but us normal folk, we don’t take much notice. So why don’t you come into my office at the end of your shift and fill out the calendar, so we all know what’s what.’</p>
<p class="western">Ash had sheepishly agreed, after which he was piled into a van with Mr. Summers and one other man who had introduced himself only as ‘Sammy’, and driven to a very nice part of town, where Mr. Summers was working on renovating an old townhouse. It looked fancy and Ash could not suppress a smile when he saw the number <em>1789 </em>in shining black lettering over the front door. This building was as old as Beau, and he made a mental note to ask the ghost at dinner if he knew about it.</p>
<p class="western">It was good to be working again; the crew was a little smaller and the project was a little fancier than what he was used to, but in itself, the work wasn’t all that different. Especially because he spent the day sanding woodwork, sweeping rooms and carrying toolboxes and making sure Mr. Summers and Sammy had all the supplies they needed. It was good, simple work, but he enjoyed it, and he looked forward to getting more involved in the actual work when this trial run was over.</p>
<p class="western">He got home that night, too late for dinner, covered in sawdust and dried sweat, his muscles straining and pleasantly sore. He took a long, brutally hot shower and then sat down to eat the frozen pizza he had bought on his first day. It seemed like a lifetime ago already. There was a dull ache beneath his ribs, which had settled there the moment he got back into the familiar rhythm of construction work, but he ignored it. His old life was behind him, back at the small house right between his pack and Nick’s; it was no use now to dwell on it any longer. He was going to be fine.</p>
<p class="western">He had a new place, new friends, and a new job. Nick was far away and long ago, and he was going to be fine.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Remington knew perfectly well what Ashford was doing by only showing up for dinner and keeping to his flat in the morning. As did the others. Orla shot him a suspiciously glance that first morning, when it became clear that their newest neighbor wasn’t going to come up, but Remington shot it right back. ‘It’s not like I asked him to stay inside.’</p><p class="western">‘You could go and ask him to come up,’ Orla replied. ‘He’s cool. He shouldn’t be made to feel like he can’t….’</p><p class="western">‘Look,’ Nell cut in, to Remington’s great relief. ‘No one is being made to do anything. Remington has not asked Ashford to eat his breakfast alone, and we should respect everyone’s choice. Or how would you feel if I came up to ask if you were going to come and have dinner while you were searching, hmmm?’</p><p class="western">Orla didn’t look happy, but she didn’t pursue the matter further. Remington felt a little guilty, but kept quiet as well. Nell was right: choices were choices. There had been plenty of nights he had not been able to face anyone but Lady Jane all day; who was to say something similar wasn’t happening with Ashford? Besides, Remington reasoned, it might not even be about him. The werewolf had been a great sport about not eating meat for dinner, so as not to offend the vampires; maybe he chose to offset this by consuming huge quantities of ham and bacon for breakfast and he didn’t want others to feel uncomfortable.</p><p class="western">That was probably not it. But Remington kept telling himself that it just might be, just because.</p><p class="western">The problem was that the werewolf was just so damn <em>nice.</em></p><p class="western">Orla liked him. As if that wasn’t enough of a character reference for anybody, he had told Mr. Donner that he wouldn’t want Ms. Nell to cook separate meals, so he’d go vegan for dinner.</p><p class="western">‘I asked my mum, too,’ he said. ‘She said it should be OK. And that curry your wife made was delicious. If you don’t mind, do you think she’d share the recipe?’ Which was honestly the fastest way to Mr. Donner’s unbeating heart.</p><p class="western">Beau called him ‘a little bird witted, not too fly to the time of day, but a good egg nonetheless,’ which Remington assumed was his way of saying he liked the man. Even Pearl, usually not the most sociable one, had been caught making small-talk over a plate of eggplant lasagna, explaining in great detail how a diamond’s true value wasn’t what it used to be.</p><p class="western">‘It’s de Beers,’ she complained, which was when Remington had tuned out of the conversation. As soon as one of the dragons mentioned either ‘de Beers’ or ‘Antwerp’, you knew you were in for a ride.</p><p class="western">It would have been easier if at least somebody shared Remington’s distaste. At least then he wouldn’t have felt like such a dick, avoiding the werewolf at all costs. But he seemed right at home at Willow’s Close, a perfect fit right between everybody else.</p><p class="western">Still. At least he had the decency to stay away at breakfast, for whatever reason. And at least he didn’t ask any other stupid questions about things like Remington’s past. As far as Remington was concerned, that was probably as good as he was going to get.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">It was a few weeks later. Life at Willow’s Close had gone on as normal with their new tenant, and Remington had just come home after another day of clients not understanding that he could not just ‘make up something pretty’ and then expect the design to be to their exact but unspoken specifications. Lady Jane was upset with him because he’d accidentally bought the wrong flavor of kibble, the gnomes had taken a ball of yarn that he really needed to finish his latest project (which was a commission, too, so he <em>really </em>needed it) and he had bumped into Ashford in the hallway, which, while not exactly the end of the world, still wasn’t high up on his list of good times. So he was already in a foul mood when he went down to Nell’s dinner and things didn’t improve from there.</p><p class="western">‘It’s beetroot pie, I’m afraid,’ Nell said as he walked in, as if the smell hadn’t given it away. ‘Mr. Donner is not in tonight, so I thought I might as well. It’s still vegan, but, you know. My kitchen looks like I murdered a person. Several persons. Oh dear.’</p><p class="western">Remington made a face. Of all the vegetables he’d come to know in these past five or so years, beetroot and him had never gotten along. Of course Ashford had to catch this and pull a face in sympathy. It seemed the werewolf didn’t love beetroot either. For once, Remington did not blame him.</p><p class="western">And then his phone buzzed and his day got exponentially worse.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">‘Mr. Moore, I am so happy to finally reach you,’ a dry voice told him. ‘You have been rather difficult to get a hold of.’</p><p class="western">Well, yeah. That was kind of the point. ‘My apologies,’ Remington said. ‘Who is this?’</p><p class="western">‘Mr. Moore, this is Hugo Young from Young, Marks and Partners. I am acting as attorney on behalf of your late grandmother’s.’</p><p class="western">Remington stopped. As did the world around him, because he understood all those words separately, but together, they made no sense at all. ‘I’m sorry?’</p><p class="western">‘Your late grandmother, Mrs. Ellianna Moore-Ruttington. You are aware that she passed some weeks ago?’</p><p class="western">‘No,’ Remington said slowly, He stared at the spotless white wall of the hallway before him, focusing, focusing, <em>focusing </em>because this wasn’t happening but it <em>was </em>happening and it was important and he should <em>focus. </em>‘No. I was not.’</p><p class="western">‘Ah.’ A pause at the other end of the line. ‘Your, ah, parents assured me that they informed you. Although, come to think of it, if they had, they might also have passed on your contact information to me. I do apologize. And my sincere condolences, Mr. Moore.’</p><p class="western">The voice sounded kind. Sad, but kind. Kind, but sad. Remington blinked. Blinked again. His eyes hurt and his throat hurt and he sat down because his legs hurt too and then the voice said: ‘Mr. Moore? Are you still there?’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah.’ Remington tried again. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m here. What… what happened? And why, why are you calling me?’</p><p class="western">‘Cancer, I’m afraid,’ Mr. Young said. Still so, so kindly, Remington thought. If he had talked to his parents, they hadn’t told him much. ‘It was rather quick, thankfully.’</p><p class="western">That was good, Remington thought. It was good, right? Probably. It was probably good.</p><p class="western">‘And I’m calling you because as I mentioned, I am the attorney and executor of her estate,’ Mr Young went on. ‘She… I mean, you are named as a beneficiary in her will. And I would like to meet with you to discuss the details, if you are available.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh,’ Remington said, mind still reeling. ‘Uhm. Yes?’</p><p class="western">Remington heard the lawyer give him a time and an address. He vaguely remembered agreeing to meet and ringing off, and then the world went away for a little bit.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">When he stepped back into Nell’s flat some time later, one look at his face was enough for the conversation to come to a screeching halt. Before he could do or say anything, Nell, with an alacrity not normally associated with the elderly, had gotten out of her chair and grabbed him by the elbow, steering him towards the kitchen at high speed. There, he was made to sit down again, on a chair this time, and left on his own for a bit before Nell returned, bearing a mug and a worried expression.</p><p class="western">‘Grandma’s dead,’ he managed, before she could even asked. ‘Lawyer. Called me.’</p><p class="western">And then he burst into tears again.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">In the end, Orla took him back up to his flat. Beau offered to stay with him for the night, but Remington had just enough mental capacity left to tell him that that wouldn’t be necessary. Pearl promised to bring him some breakfast the next morning and leave it at his doorstep, so he could stay in for as long as he needed. Nell said she would tell the gnomes to leave his flat be for the day, even going so far as to offer up an entire side table’s worth of knickknacks in return. Ashford had mysteriously disappeared when Remington emerged from Nell’s kitchen, for which he was perhaps the most grateful of all. He knew, rationally, that Ashford hadn’t done anything, couldn’t <em>possibly </em>have done anything and that he would be nothing but kind and supportive because that was apparently the kind of person that he was; but Remington also knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that he would personally claw the eyes out of the very first werewolf he laid eyes on.</p><p class="western">When he entered his flat, Lady Jane looked up from her throne that was his latest project. He barely paid her any attention. He barely paid any attention to anything, except the way from his front door to his bed. It seemed longer than usual. But he managed. He sat (fell) down on his bed, completely numb and exhausted, eyes burning and his breath coming in short, sharp gasps that weren’t quite sobs.</p><p class="western">He’d <em>liked </em>Grandma Ellie. Loved was a strong word, especially in his pack, but. But out of all of them, she had been the one he’d most regretted leaving behind. She was the one he’d missed the most.</p><p class="western">And they hadn’t called him to tell her she was dead.</p><p class="western">Anger flared up and then just as quickly faded away, leaving only a bone-deep weariness. Remington groaned and rubbed his eyes, which felt raw and tender. Sleep, he decided. Sleep would be good. Things would… well, they’d probably not be much better in the morning, but still. Sleep never hurt anyone.</p><p class="western">He dragged himself up and into his bathroom, not bothering with the niceties of washing his face or brushing his teeth. Instead he opened up his medicine cabinet and took out his jar of emergency sleeping pills, popped one, and then undressed where he stood before making his way back into the bedroom and crawling into bed. Even with the sleeping pill, it took him a while; long enough to register the faint creak of the door being opened and the heavy thud and dipping of the matters when fifteen pounds of black hell-cat landed on his bed. It took some wriggling, but after a while Remington had a warm lump gently purring against his chest and a nose full of musty smelling cat hair. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes Lady Jane did really seem to care, at least a little, about her walking, talking tin opener.</p><p class="western">But Remington slept, and dreamed of wolves. Of snarling and snapping and cold stares and silences that were even worse.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">When morning came, things did indeed not look much better. Remington moved through his morning routine on autopilot, showering and brushing his teeth while staring in the far distance and resolutely not thinking, or wondering, what he was going to do now. He set up an out of office for his email, saying he would have to take a couple of days off due to a family emergency. He opened the door to find a tray of scrambled eggs on toast on his doorstep, next to a pot of very strong coffee. He took this with him to the kitchen and was about to sit down, when there was a knock. At. His. Door.</p><p class="western">‘Who the fuck…’ he muttered, but he already knew the answer. And although the <em>I’m going to claw their fucking eyes out </em>sentiment from yesterday had faded, Ashford still took a step back when the door opened and he saw the murderous look on Remington’s face.</p><p class="western">‘Yes?’ Remington snapped.</p><p class="western">‘Uhm.’ The werewolf looked about to bolt. Remington wished he would. ‘I, uhm. I mean, Ms. Nell told me what happened and she said you might need to go away for a couple of days and, well. I was wondering. If you wanted. I could look after your cat for you?’</p><p class="western">Remington blinked. ‘My cat?’</p><p class="western">‘You have a cat, right?’</p><p class="western">A loud yowling from behind Remington indicated that this was true, and that the cat in question was hungry.</p><p class="western">‘So I thought, well. Since you’d given me those secondhand stores and they were really a huge help and I wanted to thank you and I know you don’t like werewolves...’ Remington almost laughed at the understatement, but Ashford went on. ‘And I also don’t really know you enough to get you anything you might like but I could, ah. Help you with this. If you needed me to.’</p><p class="western">There was a <em>thunk</em> from the kitchen and a moment later, Lady Jane appeared from behind the sofa to see what the holdup to her breakfast was. Remington fully expected her to throw another hissy fit; she was notoriously mistrustful to anyone who wasn’t him, and to be fair, if he had asked anybody else in the building, they would probably only agree to feed her if he supplied them with a full on body armor suit. Even dragon skin was no match for four razor sharp claws being deployed into the nearest available calf.</p><p class="western">Silence reigned as Lady Jane glared at Remington and then looked Ashford up and down for a moment that seemed to stretch on and on. And then Lady Jane started to purr.</p><p class="western">Remington clenched his jaw, just so that it wouldn’t drop as his cat, his <em>traitor </em>of a cat started purring up a storm and winding herself against Ashford’s legs as if he was her long lost husband, finally returned from the war. Ashford looked down, an astonished look on his face before he looked at Remington and grinned. ‘Hey. I think he likes me.’</p><p class="western">‘She,’ Remington managed to grind out. ‘Not he. Her name’s Lady Jane.’</p><p class="western">Lady Jane meowed softly, a sound Remington was pretty sure she hadn’t made since she’d been a kitten. Ashford bent down and scratched her behind her ears, a simple gesture that would have cost anyone else their arm. ‘Hi Lady,’ Ashford cooed and Remington gave up. ‘Alright.’</p><p class="western">Ashford stood up, ignoring another soft meow from Remington’s traitor cat. ‘Alright?’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah.’ Remington shook his head. ‘Alright. I… I do need to go away. For three days, I think, might be more. And she needs to eat, so. Alright. And thank you.’</p><p class="western">The relieved smile on the werewolf’s face lit up the hallway. ‘Oh. Ah. Yeah, of course. No problem, like I said. You really helped me out there last week, so.’</p><p class="western">Before he could start to think and regret this decision, Remington stepped aside. ‘Come on in. I’ll show you where her stuff is.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Ash had not expected the witch to agree at all, let alone invite him into his flat. He’d expected to be rebuffed politely, or to be left knocking, or, worst case scenario, to be yelled at because he was being incredibly presumptuous and he <em>knew </em>Remington hated werewolves so why on <em>earth </em>would he want Ash’ help? He had almost not gone up at all, convincing himself it’d be no use, and that Remington would probably have found someone else to watch his cat anyway.</p><p class="western">But then he thought back to last night. To how he had overheard Remington’s side of that phone conversation in the hallway, because the walls were thin and his hearing was sharp. How he had heard the witch’s voice break, and then the silence, and then the stifled sobbing. He remembered Remington entering Ms. Nell’s flat again, white as a sheet and shaking like a leaf. That was the point Ash had made himself scarce, because he wasn’t sure what was going on but he knew heartbreak when he saw it and he was pretty sure Remington would not want him to be in the audience for that.</p><p class="western">Yes, going back up and offer to help was probably not necessary, and not wanted. But Ashford couldn’t stay downstairs and do nothing either. Not when someone was hurting like that.</p><p class="western">And now he was here, and Remington was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to follow. Ashford shook himself and stepped inside. He’d seen a glimpse of the flat before, on that first day. This was different.</p><p class="western">The furniture was still there. The faded couch, the ancient bookcases filled with piles and piles of paper. The antique looking desk. But there was more, that he hadn’t seen earlier. For instance, the bottom shelves of the bookcases were filled with jars and boxes, each neatly labeled in that spidery handwriting. There was a large vase that didn’t hold any flowers, but instead had several vicious looking sharp sticks jutting out of it. Next to the vase was large dresser, each drawer carefully closed and labeled. And on top of the dresser was the thing Ash had noticed that first time, but had not really grasped until know.</p><p class="western">‘You made those?’ he asked, nodding at the pile of colorful fabric lying folded on top of the dresser. ‘I mean. When I came over earlier, I saw you were… you were knitting?’</p><p class="western">Remington stopped on the way to the kitchen and Ash immediately regretted his question. He was here to help, not make small-talk with a witch who didn’t even like him. But then: ‘I did.’</p><p class="western">Remington turned around, the expression on his face relaxing ever so slightly. ‘I, ah. I make stuff. In commission.’</p><p class="western">Ash let that sink in for a moment, looking back at the pieces of fabric. Even to his untrained eye, it looked intricate and delicate, beautiful and comfortable. He resisted the urge to wander over and touch it, sure it would not be appreciated. ‘Wow. That’s. That’s cool. Do you, ah. Use magic to make them?’</p><p class="western">Remington froze. In an instant, Ash realized that that had been supremely the wrong question. ‘Forget that,’ he said quickly, raising a hand as the witch turned on him with eyes that were suddenly very, very cold. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t… I shouldn’t have asked.’</p><p class="western">‘No,’ Remington said, voice below freezing. ‘You shouldn’t. And I don’t.’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded, unable to say anything. Remington gave him another long, sub-zero temperature stare and then turned back around, marching into the kitchen in a way that told Ash very firmly that this particular conversation was over. ‘Kibble’s in here,’ he said, opening a cupboard. ‘Just fill up the bowl in the morning and check if she’s got anything left in the evenings. Kitty litter is in there too. That’s pretty much it. Any other questions?’</p><p class="western">His tone implied that the right answer was ‘no’. ‘No,’ Ash said meekly.</p><p class="western">‘Good.’ Remington paused and a little bit of the ice melted. Ash tried not to breathe out in relief. ‘I’ll be driving up to Northby tomorrow. I’ll meet with my grandmother’s attorney the day after that, and then drive back the next day. So you’ll only need to check on her tomorrow evening, and then Thursday and Friday morning.’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded. Then frowned. ‘Northby’s not that far, right? You really...’</p><p class="western">‘You really like asking questions, don’t you,’ Remington sighed. ‘No, I don’t <em>need </em>to take three days. I could do it in one, if I wanted to. But I don’t want to.’ He looked Ash straight in the eye for the first time and the werewolf felt a small stab of <em>something</em>. ‘You know I don’t like werewolves. That’s because my pack was shit. But I liked my grandmother a lot, and if I <em>have </em>to go back up to Northby, then I am going to do it right, and take the time to pay her my respects.’</p><p class="western">That was probably more information than Ash deserved. It also called up far more questions, none of which he should ask right now, not when he was already on very thin ice with this witch. ‘I see,’ was all he said. ‘And I’m sorry.’</p><p class="western">Remington raised an eyebrow. ‘For asking questions?’</p><p class="western">It took Ash a moment to recognize the attempt at humor. Then he smiled. ‘That too. But your grandmother. I…. I’m sorry about that too.’</p><p class="western">Remington’s mouth twisted and for a moment, Ash was reminded of the heartbroken expression he had seen yesterday. And he didn’t want to push, he really didn’t and he was sure Remington wouldn’t appreciate it if he did, but. ‘If there’s anything else he can do,’ he said, slowly, gently, extending the offer like it was a piece of meat in front of a feral cat, ‘I mean, I know I won’t be your first choice. You’ve got Ms. Nell and Orla and the others. But I want to help too. Whatever way you need.’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded, throat working and face tight. When he didn’t say anything, Ash took that as his cue to leave. ‘I’ll check on your cat tomorrow,’ he said, making his way past Remington out of the kitchen and back into the living room. ‘Bye, Lady Jane.’</p><p class="western">From the back of the sofa, the cat watched him go. Ash had a feeling she was smirking, but of course, she was just a cat, and cats didn’t smirk. Of course they didn’t.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">When he entered Remington’s flat the next evening, he found a note tacked to the kitchen cupboard that held the kibble. He took it off, stared at the writing for a moment and then realized he was smiling.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Lady Jane is not allowed on the finished blankets. She will try and I have tried to make it impossible. Please check them, I can’t sell them if they’re covered in cat hair.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Thank you.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Rem </em>
</p><p class="western">There was indeed a heavy cardboard box set on top of the blanket stack. It was also sitting remarkably askew, almost as if some clever creature had used their full body weight to try and shove it off. Ash stared at it for a moment. Then he turned and stared at Lady Jane, who was regarding him suspiciously from the kitchen.</p><p class="western">‘I best take these with me, hmm?’ Ash asked her. ‘Wouldn’t want anything to happen to them.’</p><p class="western">Lady Jane flattened her ears. Ash ignored her and went back downstairs, carrying the blankets in one hand. He set them down carefully on his own sofa and once again marveled at the intricate stitches, the color palettes, the way each and every blanket looked as if it had come straight from a magazine. It wasn’t magic; he’d sniffed it, to be sure, and it didn’t smell the way magic items smelled. There was just the now familiar scent of tea, biscuits and iron. A smell he had already started to associate with home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The drive up to Northby was two and a half hours of nerve-wrecking, stomach-churning familiarity. In fact, Remington was pretty sure he could have made the drive with his eyes closed and letting muscle memory take over. He didn’t do that, although the added bonus of smashing himself in a tree appeared in his mind for a moment, and seemed in all honesty like a better option than this. A better option than going back.</p><p class="western">Because he wasn’t just going back to Northby. Northby was a small town in the middle of nowhere, a place where everybody knew your name and where nobody ever really left. No. The moment he would drive into town, his car would be noticed, there would be talk, and with any luck, there would also be family members. Remington hoped they’d all stay inside and leave him be; he knew that they probably wouldn’t.</p><p class="western">After two hours and twenty minutes of nausea, he turned the car off the highway and onto the B-road that led to the small town he’d grown up in. He could already see the church spire, a dark shape against the blue sky. He shivered. That church held even more bad memories than his pack’s home, and his pack’s home held a <em>lot </em>of bad memories. The road in front of him started curving, and Remington focused on staying on the asphalt, staring resolutely ahead. Not ten minutes later, he was driving past the first houses, small farmsteads at the edge of town. The cardboard signs on the side of the road proclaiming that this was your place to get potatoes, or pumpkins, or any assorted vegetables, looked like they hadn’t changed in over five years.</p><p class="western">He drove on. Past the church. Past the large house next to the church, doing his level best not to look to the side to see which lights were on and which weren’t. Past the market square, past the little library, past the elementary school, and, with a small sigh of relief, out the other side of the town. From here, the road became straight as an arrow again, bordering the fields that lay on either side. Remington drove on for another handful of minutes, and then finally came to a stop in front of a large, wrought iron gate.</p><p class="western">His feet crunched on the loose gravel when he stepped out of the car. A chilly wind cut through the air and he shivered again, drawing his coat closed. It was quiet here; just the sound of birdsong, of the wind rushing through the trees, and the chugging of a tractor at the far end of one of the fields.</p><p class="western">The tall gate in front of him stood slightly ajar. Remington made his way through, walked down a gravel lane lined with tall chestnut trees, and paused when he came to the first gravestone.</p><p class="western">This was it. He was here. Back in Northby, at the St. John’s Cemetery. To say goodbye to Grandma Ellie, the way he should have done months ago. The pit of nausea in his stomach had become sharp, edged like a knife and it hurt when he swallowed. He walked on. Past that first gravestone, down another lane, walking almost blindly and turning this way and that until he came to a stop again, this time in front of a small stone mausoleum.</p><p class="western">It was the only one of its kind in the cemetery and he had been able to spot it the moment he entered through the gate. It stood dark against the trees, a wide, squat block of dark stone with a wolf’s head above the entrance as its only decoration. Remington couldn’t help the impression that the wolf was sneering at him.</p><p class="western">He didn’t go in. He was smarter than that. Instead he turned to the side of the mausoleum, to the large, marble plaque in which the entire lineage of the Moore pack had been recorded. The first names were faded with time, barely legible now; the last name, however, was shining in the late afternoon sunlight, brand new and unwethered.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Elliana Moore-Ruttington. 1916-2020.</em>
</p><p class="western">Almost without thought, Remington reached out and touched the name with his thumb, ever so gently. The knife in his stomach turned and twisted and when the wind picked up again, his cheeks were wet and cold.</p><p class="western">‘I’m sorry.’</p><p class="western">The words were quiet, and flew away on the wind immediately. Remington swallowed. ‘I’m. I’m sorry.’</p><p class="western">He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. It wasn’t for leaving; she would never have blamed him for that. But perhaps he should have known. Perhaps he should not have relied on his pack, his parents, to reach out to him, which he had known they would never do. Perhaps he should have made an effort to stay in touch himself, if only for her sake.</p><p class="western">‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered again, blinking against the tears which were still flowing freely. It didn’t matter; there was no one to see them here. ‘I don’t know… I don’t know what you want to give me. But I’m telling you right now, you didn’t have to do that.’</p><p class="western">It would have been nice, at that moment, if a butterfly had landed on his shoulder, or if there had been a bird landing on the roof of the mausoleum. But Grandma Ellie had never been one for floofy magic, as she called it, and therefore, nothing happened. Except the knife in Remington’s gut seemed to dissolve, slowly but surely, until he stood up straight and smiled, blinking away the last of his tears. ‘And I bet you know that,’ he said, his voice still not carrying farther than the plaque in front of him. ‘And you did it anyway. So. Thank you, whatever it is.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">‘She left you two things, in fact,’ Mr. Young told Remington. It was the next morning and Remington was sitting, a little bleary-eyed, in a sterile office with drab walls, dull blue carpet from wall to wall and the kind of art that gave him a headache. ‘First of which is the easiest, so I will hand that over to you right now.’</p><p class="western">He bent down and retrieved a vintage suitcase from below his desk. ‘There we are.’</p><p class="western">Remington stared.</p><p class="western">‘I trust you know what is inside?’ Mr. Young asked. He really was a kind man, Remington had discovered. He didn’t know where his grandmother had found this law firm, but she had made a good choice, despite their unassuming interior decorating choices.</p><p class="western">‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely as he reached out and took hold of the suitcase. ‘Thank you.’</p><p class="western">Mr. Young smiled. ‘Just doing my job, Mr. Moore.’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded. He did not dare to open the suitcase right now, because he was sure he’d burst into tears on the spot; but if this was what he thought it was, and what he thought it was, was his grandmother’s old collection of crochet necessities and patterns, then he would definitely do that later. In fact, he had half a mind to take the suitcase, bid Mr. Young goodbye, get in his car and drive away, out of this hellhole and back to Willow’s Close. But unfortunately, the lawyer was watching him with a curious half smile that made a little tendril of unease curl in Remington’s gut.</p><p class="western">‘What’s the second item?’</p><p class="western">‘Ah.’ The lawyer’s smile broadened. ‘The second item, I fear, is a little more… complicated. I have the file right here. I suggest you take it and review it. I will be next door if you have any questions.’</p><p class="western">With that, he handed Remington a bulging manila folder, smiled again, and vanished through the door. Remington was alone. On not nearly enough hours of sleep, one too many cups of bad coffee and a grief that was still too raw to touch, he sat in his uncomfortable office chair for a moment before he slowly, carefully opened up the folder in his lap.</p><p class="western">Five minutes later, he was sitting with his head between his knees as Mr. Young rubbed a soothing hand up and down his back. ‘Alright, Mr. Moore, alright. We’ll just keep breathing like this and then in a minute, I will hand you some water. There we go. There we are.’</p><p class="western">It took another minute before Remington was able to sit back up straight, clutching the glass of water Mr. Young had handed him in a shaking hand.</p><p class="western">‘Slow sips, Mr. Moore. Slow sips.’</p><p class="western">Remington obediently took a small sip. Then: ‘She left me a <em>house?’</em></p><p class="western">Mr. Young smiled. ‘It appears so, Mr. Moore.’</p><p class="western">Remington closed his eyes and waited for the office to stop spinning around him. ‘A house.’</p><p class="western">‘Yes, Mr. Moore.’</p><p class="western">‘A <em>house.’</em></p><p class="western">‘<em>Yes, </em>Mr. Moore.’</p><p class="western">Feeling he might be reaching the end of the lawyer’s patience, Remington forced himself to take a deep breath. ‘She bought. A house. And left it. To me.’</p><p class="western">Mr. Young nodded. ‘She indeed has, Mr. Moore. You have read the letter, haven’t you?’</p><p class="western">Remington had, in fact, read the letter. It was very succinct, almost blunt. Grandma Ellie had never been a fan of using more words than strictly necessary.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Dear Remy,</em>
</p><p class="western"><em>I know you have found a place at Petronella Larke’s. And while I have no doubt that she will take good care of you, there might come a time when you will need to move on again. I have provided a little something for you, just in case. It is not in the best condition, I’m afraid, but all the more opportunity for you to work your magic </em>(at this, Remington made a face).</p><p class="western">
  <em>All my love,</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Grandma Ellie</em>
</p><p class="western">Remington blinked away a fresh wave of tears and put the letter aside, revealing what looked like a printed out website listing. The words ‘original elements’, ‘lots of potential’, ‘cosy’ and ‘vintage charm’ jumped out at him and filled him with dread because as someone working in graphic design and marketing, he already had some dark suspicions about what was hiding behind those euphemisms.</p><p class="western">He looked at the pictures and wished he hadn’t. To be fair, the house looked nice from the outside. A little small, but at least all the walls were standing upright and there were no great visible gaping holes in the roof. From the black and white pictures, Remington judged the walls to be white, with a wooden gable that could have been any color from purple to green. It certainly looked charming; like an old-fashioned little farm, forgotten by time until someone came by and made it into a home again. The next photo showed the same house and also the large patch of grass behind and next to it; Remington assumed that was the backyard. At least the pictures indicated it came with the house, and that was when the first seed of an idea started bedding into his mind.</p><p class="western">‘I’ll take it,’ he said. Not that he supposed he had much choice in the matter. He gave the next couple of pictures a cursory glance; swore; looked closer; swore again and sighed. ‘Just one question. Please tell me the previous residents took their stuff with them when they left?’</p><p class="western">‘Ah.’ Mr. Young looked a little sheepish. ‘I am unfortunately not sure about that, Mr. Moore. I know your grandmother attempted to arrange for the house to be emptied, but I don’t know if she succeeded. However,’ he went on quickly before Remington could ask anything else, ‘I have to give you a word of warning. When I disclosed your grandmother’s will to the rest of your, ah, family, they were understandably not happy that a sizeable portion of their inheritance had been sunken into this, and I quote, <em>dump for the witchling. </em>Knowing a little bit about your family and its, ah, history, I have taken the liberty, after your grandmother’s passing, to arrange for the locks of the house to be changed. Just in case there happened to be some spare keys lying around, you understand.’</p><p class="western">Remington understood. He also understood now why exactly Grandma Ellie had chosen this lawyer in particular. ‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’</p><p class="western">‘It was no problem,’ Mr. Young said. ‘You will find the keys in your file. Along with, I believe, the details to a bank account she wanted you to use for any renovations.’</p><p class="western">And before Remington could process <em>that</em>, the lawyer stood up, stretched out his hand and said: ‘Have a <em>splendid</em> day, Mr. Moore.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Despite his reluctance to stay in Northby any longer than absolutely necessary, Remington was glad that he hadn’t planned on driving back to Willow’s Close the same day. Especially when he parked his car at the only B&amp;B in town and realized that he had no idea how he had gotten there. He must have driven; cars didn’t usually go anywhere without someone telling them what to do. But he had absolutely no recollection of the roads he had taken, or how long the drive had been, and that was the point where he resolved to stay in his room for the rest of the afternoon because <em>holy fuck. </em></p><p class="western">Once safely up in his room, after he had politely asked his hostess if it would be a problem if he stayed in for the rest of the day, he took out the manila folder again. He put the keys and the house listing aside for the moment, and focused on the bank account details.</p><p class="western">It was a decent amount. He stared at the figure for a while, trying to compute how on earth his grandmother had saved enough to not only buy a house, but create the start of a renovation fund to boot, and then decided that he did not want to know. It was his now. To do with as he pleased.</p><p class="western"><em>To work your magic, </em>niggled a voice in his brain. He ignored it.</p><p class="western">To be fair, it probably wouldn’t be enough to allow for a complete and total overhaul; but it was a start, and from what Remington had seen of the house, between all the clutter, it had been livable. Old-fashioned, sure. But livable.</p><p class="western">And he now happened to know a werewolf who worked in construction.</p><p class="western">He also ignored that thought.</p><p class="western">Instead he focused on the idea he’d had, back in the lawyer’s office. The idea that came from an instinctive reaction when he’d seen what was in the folder. The instinctive reaction that was <em>but I don’t want to move again.</em></p><p class="western">He didn’t want to move again. But, he thought, as he looked at the floor plan of the house again, and then at the wide field of grass right next to it, maybe he did not have to.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">He arrived back at Willow’s close late the next afternoon, to furious glares from Lady Jane. This was not unexpected. After a quick inspection, Remington concluded that her kibble and water bowl had been filled that morning and that her litterbox had been scooped out, something he had not specifically asked Ashford to do but which, given Lady Jane’s tendency to leave surprises for him when the box was not up to her high standards, he appreciated nonetheless. So, after putting away the manila folder for now, he went to his sofa, sat down and tried to make peace with his cat before he did anything else.</p><p class="western">‘You acted like you liked him,’ he told her. ‘Cozying up to him like that. And I was only really gone for one day, you realize. No need to get your tail in a twist.’</p><p class="western">Lady Jane ignored this. Remington sighed. ‘Alright. I’ll go down to the grocery store later and get you the tuna that you like. How about that.’</p><p class="western">Silence. Then Lady Jane yawned, stretched her front legs dug her nails deep into Remington’s sofa, and jumped down to amble off to the kitchen. A few moments later, Remington heard the hearty crunch of kibble being demolished, which he chose to take as a good sign.</p><p class="western">Then he looked around, and finally discovered what had been bothering him from the moment he had walked through the door. One minute thirty-seven seconds later, he was downstairs, knocking on that blasted werewolf’s door to find out where the hell his pile of blankets had gotten to.</p><h1 class="western">
<br/><br/>
</h1>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Ash came home to Willow’s Close to find a witch knocking fruitlessly on his door. He paused, repressing the urge to sniff the air. He had been doing that more and more often, and he kept having to remind himself that some people might not like to be sniffed out. Especially people who were nervous witches who held a grudge against werewolves for some reason.</p><p class="western">‘Behind you,’ he said, then smiled as Remington jumped. ‘Sorry. Just got back from work. You’re here because of the blankets?’</p><p class="western">‘Ah. Yes,’ Remington said, visibly relaxing. ‘I wondered where they went. You didn’t sell them of yourself, did you?’</p><p class="western">It was a joke, Ash could tell. But the thing with Remington, he had realized, was that he wasn’t used to making jokes. There was also a sting in there, something that told Ash this wasn’t <em>entirely </em>a joke and that it might not have been the first time one of the witch’s valuable items had disappeared.</p><p class="western">‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ he said easily. ‘Just thought my flat would be the best place to keep it away from the Lady. Come in, I’ll get them for you.’</p><p class="western">Remington followed Ash inside. Ash pretended he did not see the curious glances the witch gave his brand new secondhand living room. It wasn’t as stylish as Ash would have liked, because his experience with decorating was very limited; Nick had taken care of most of that at their old place. But it was functional. Most of his boxes had been unpacked too, which helped a lot. He just had to find a good gardening center and then he would be pretty much done.</p><p class="western">‘You like plants?’ Remington asked, looking at the stack of empty pots in the corner. Ash nodded. ‘Yeah. Green thumb, kind of comes with the territory, you know.’</p><p class="western">Remington frowned. ‘The territory?’</p><p class="western">Ash shook his head. ‘Never mind. Wolf pun.’</p><p class="western">‘Ah.’ Remington smiled, although Ash could see he didn’t really get it. Then again, it hadn’t been a very good pun. ‘But you didn’t take any plants with you. When you moved in.’</p><p class="western">‘No.’ Ash tried not to feel a sting at that, because losing his plants had almost hurt more than losing Nick. Almost. He’d had that one Aloe plant since he’d been a cub. ‘They ah, they got sick. Thrips. They’re these tiny bugs and they… they almost literally, they suck the life out of your plant. And they can fly too, so once you get them in one plant, you’ll have them in all of them. Had to throw everything out.’</p><p class="western">Remington muttered something that sounded like he was sorry. Ash nodded and decided that that was enough backstory for now. The witch was here with a purpose, not to make small-talk.</p><p class="western">‘I’ve got your blankets right here,’ he said, retrieving them from where he’d stashed them on top of a bookcase. ‘Out of the way of cat hair and wolf hair, good as they were.’</p><p class="western">‘Wolf hair?’ Remington looked puzzled as Ash handed him the blankets. And then realization dawned and he looked at Ash in horror. ‘Wait. The full moon was… that was two days ago. And you stayed <em>inside?’</em></p><p class="western">Ash shrugged. ‘No other place to go, really. And it wasn’t that bad.’</p><p class="western">It hadn’t been fun either, but he didn’t say that. For a werewolf who was used to be able to go for a run whenever he pleased, staying cooped inside was. An adjustment. To say the least. But then again, it had been better than going home, for now.</p><p class="western">‘Mum said I could come home for the night,’ he told Remington’s shocked face, ‘but I told her I had to cat-sit. And blanket-sit. Really, it’s fine,’ he added, when the witch looked even more disbelieving. ‘It’s fine. Going home right now… not a good idea. Maybe next moon, or the one after that, but. Not for now.’ He pointed at the blankets in Remington’s arms, trying to change the subject. ‘You know, I had a closer look at those too. I, ah, I don’t know much about knitting or whatever, but they’re really good. You sure you didn’t use magic?’</p><p class="western">This time, Remington did catch on to the joke. He shook his head, a softening in his eyes that Ash took as the beginning of a smile. ‘Nah. Easier to do it by hand, honestly. And it’s crochet, not knitting, but that’s. Uhm. Thanks.’ He looked at Ash, smile turning devious. ‘You know, if you wanted one, I could give you my website. It’ll take a couple of weeks to make, but then you get your own unique, custom-made item, handcrafted with love and such’.</p><p class="western">Ash grinned. ‘You know, I might take you up on that. Could you make it so that wolf hair would look like part of the design?’</p><p class="western">Remington snorted a laugh, and Ash would have been lying if he wasn’t just a little proud of himself. Then the witch grew serious again, looking from the blankets to Ash with a frown on his face. ‘You know. Now that I think about it, we might be able to come to some kind of arrangement.’</p><p class="western">Ash paused. He knew Remington was warming up to him, but the turn his thoughts had taken on that comment, was probably a <em>little </em>too sharp He blamed the lingering wolf. Even in the final death throes of his relationship with Nick, the days right after the full moon had still been a frenzy of horny hormones in which they both struggled to keep their pants on for longer than two hours at a time.</p><p class="western">‘Sure,’ he said slowly. ‘Depends on what kind of arrangement, though. If you need me to watch your cat again...’</p><p class="western">‘No,’ Remington said, still with that curious look in his dark eyes. ‘I… well, it’s a bit of a long story. Come up to my flat after dinner? It’ll be easier to explain there, I think.’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded, trying furiously to contain his mind which had taken the phrase <em>come up to my flat </em>and ran with it. ‘Yeah. Sure.’</p><p class="western">Remington smiled, and all of a sudden, Ash wasn’t so sure it was just the wolf hormones that were messing with his head. ‘Great. See you at dinner then?’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Dinner, despite the fact that it was a full house for the night, was quiet. There was an elephant in the room which everybody was avoiding, and its name was Northby, Ash realized. Even though, after some careful prodding, he had found out that most of the other residents didn’t <em>know </em>Remington’s history either, everybody was aware that Northby was bad news.</p><p class="western">And obviously, no one was going to go and outright ask: ‘So what was in that will of that dead grandmother of yours?’ Not even Ash, who loved to ask questions and didn’t really care if that made him look dumb (not anymore, at least, or he tried to tell himself that), would go that far. So instead, the conversation turned to small, everyday issues. The grocery store next door now sold a vegan cheese Mr. Donner was eager to try out. Orla had been chasing a lead that was probably not her guy, but she was sure he’d been a dick to some other girls so she was planning a small amount of vengeance, just to get some practice. Pearl told a story about a customer who thought he’d be able to pull one over on a dragon when selling crystal gems, which had everybody in stitches. Beau regaled everybody on his opinion on today’s fashion, which had nothing on the fashion of <em>his </em>day, thank you very much, which, after Pearl’s tale, bored everybody to tears.</p><p class="western">And all the while, Remington sat and quietly ate his pasta. And all the while, Ash kept trying not to look at him, although he suspected he wasn’t very successful.</p><p class="western">Finally, after the last of the desert had been cleared away and Ms. Nell’s dishwasher had been filled up to bursting, Remington got up to leave. ‘You want to come up with me?’ he asked Ash, looking back while waiting in the doorway.</p><p class="western">Ash got up, nodding and making his way over to the door when someone behind him wolf-whistled.</p><p class="western">In an instant, so fast Ash didn’t even see it, the doorway was empty and Remington was at the other end of the room, slamming Pearl against the wall with such a force that the picture frames on the nearby table wobbled dangerously. ‘<em>Don’t,’ </em>he snarled, and it <em>was </em>a snarl. It wasn’t the ice cold voice he’d used on Ash when he asked impertinent questions; this was pure rage, burning, red-hot rage and Ash could have sworn the air around him shimmered.</p><p class="western">Then of course, this was a furious witch threatening an actual dragon. The shimmering of heat might not have been just his imagination, which was confirmed when the wallpaper started smoldering. A black and smoking outline appeared around Pearl’s body. She hadn’t moved yet. Instead she looked down at Remington, too-pale eyes large with astonishment and something else. Something far more dangerous.</p><p class="western">That was the moment Ash decided to step in. It probably wasn’t wise, but he didn’t care. All the others were standing around the table, staring slack-jawed at the scene unfolding in front of them and if nobody did anything, then Ash was pretty sure Willow’s Close would burn down right around them.</p><p class="western">Or. All except one.</p><p class="western">‘REMINGTON ALEXANDER MOORE,’ came a thundering voice from the kitchen. ‘JUST WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?’</p><p class="western">The effect was immediate. Remington <em>flinched </em>and dropped Pearl at once, stumbling back until he hit another side table. This time, the picture frames did fall down, the clatter of plastic on wood deafening in the sudden silence.</p><p class="western">‘Right,’ Ms. Nell said, voice back at a normal volume. ‘Now. Both of you, apologize. I will <em>not </em>tolerate any kind of <em>power displays </em>in my house, as you are both well aware. Given the circumstances, I will let it slide this time but rest assured, the very next one who tries to assert their dominance, one way or the other, will find themselves outside faster than you can say ‘evicted’. Am I making myself clear?’</p><p class="western">Pearl nodded, rolling her shoulders where Remington had grabbed her. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, looking at nobody in particular. ‘It was just a bit of fun. I didn’t mean...’</p><p class="western">‘That’s enough,’ Ms. Nell cut her off. ‘Remington?’</p><p class="western">Remington, shoulders hunched and very pale, nodded too. His throat worked and his mouth moved, but even Ash didn’t hear anything. Still Ms. Nell said: ‘Alright then. Now, if you have something to discuss with Ash, then I suggest you go and do so right now. Pearl, you will stay here and help me with the washing up.’</p><p class="western">Pearl rolled her eyes. ‘Sure. Whatever.’</p><p class="western">One by one, the other residents filtered out of the room. Ash waited in the hallway, unsure. When Remington emerged at last, Ash took one look at his face and felt something in his gut twist painfully.</p><p class="western">‘You know,’ he offered gently, ‘I can come up with you some other time. You look like...’</p><p class="western">‘No, it’s okay.’ Remington dragged a hand over his face, looking very much not OK at all. ‘It’s just… I didn’t expect that. It’s, ah, it’s been a while since...’</p><p class="western">‘Since what?’ Ash asked.</p><p class="western">‘Since Nell broke out the foghorn like that,’ Remington replied, a little sourly. He was shaking, Ash noted, but his usual dry expression was slowly coming back. ‘She looks like an old biddy, but she’s got lungs of steel.’</p><p class="western">Ash suspected that was not the only reason Remington had jumped like a scalded cat, but he chose not to reply. ‘You still want to go upstairs then?’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah. Just give me a minute when we get inside.’ Remington turned and walked up the stairs, not even waiting for Ash to follow him. Ash did follow, after a moment’s deliberation and wondering if he shouldn’t have pressed it, if he shouldn’t have gone downstairs instead and let the witch recover from whatever the hell had just happened.</p><p class="western">When they got to the flat, Remington told Ash to wait outside a moment. The door closed and Ash was left waiting in a haze of tea and iron. It was strong on this floor, which made sense, and it was surprising how fast he’d come to associate this scent with that of home. Not his pack, of course, because pack was pack even if he was living somewhere else. But home was different, and it was good too.</p><p class="western">A handful of minutes later, Remington opened the door again, looking as calm and collected as Ash had ever seen him. Only a tightness around his eyes revealed that he had not been as calm and collected only moments before. ‘Come on in.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">‘Let me get this straight,’ Ash said slowly, staring at the contents of the manila folder. ‘You will make me one of your blankets. And I won’t have to pay for it, but in return, you want me to check out this house for you?’</p><p class="western">He was sitting on Remington’s sofa, Lady Jane curled up in his lap. She had come running into the room the moment he entered and as soon as he sat down, she’d jumped up and started kneading his leg. It hurt, but Remington’s dark look more than made up for that, Ash thought. He suspected the cat was far smarter than Remington gave her credit for, and that she knew her witch well and cared about him a great deal. He stroked her ears in silent appreciation.</p><p class="western">‘Yes,’ Remington sat, shooting another glare at his cat. ‘I looked online. It costs around 200 pounds to have a house inspected by a contractor. And I don’t know if you have looked at my website, but my blankets go for around 250 pounds. So I thought it might be a fair trade.’</p><p class="western">Ash thought about this. 250 pounds was a lot more than he’d expected to ever pay for a blanket, but then again, he supposed it was a lot of yarn that went into it. And you probably needed some time to knit it all together, or crochet it, or whatever. Especially when you made it as pretty as Remington did.</p><p class="western">He looked at the pictures again. It wasn’t a big house, and at least at first sight, it seemed solid. The mess inside could hold some nasty surprises, though, and he wasn’t sure if his new boss would like it if he took a job outside of the company. Back home, it hadn’t mattered much; everyone did some work on the side, and as long as you didn’t overdo it and you still showed up to your main job, there wasn’t a boss who would complain.</p><p class="western">Things were different when you were still in your first month, however. And an inspection of a house like this would be around 200 pounds, Remington wasn’t wrong about that.</p><p class="western">‘You don’t have to,’ Remington said when the silence stretched on. ‘I just thought… I mean, I’ll still make you a blanket if you want to, at a reduced rate if you don’t mind being at the bottom of the order list. I can find a contractor to do it, and in any case, I still have to clean the place out first because all that junk is still in there, so that’s going to take a while….’</p><p class="western">He trailed off. Ash looked up, an idea sparking. ‘How are you going to do that?’ he asked. ‘By yourself?’</p><p class="western">‘My weak, puny self you mean?’ Remington asked, mouth twisting in a way that probably meant he was trying to be self-deprecating. ‘Probably. I mean, I could hire someone but I’d also like to see what’s in there. Don’t know if you noticed, but I kind of like old stuff.’</p><p class="western">Yes. Ash had noticed that. ‘OK,’ he said slowly. ‘Then I have another idea.’</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">And that was how Remington found himself the next weekend, climbing out of a werewolf’s van and walking up to the driveway of his very own house.</p><p class="western">It looked just like the pictures. That wasn’t surprising, but it was a relief. For all Remington knew, and Ashford had warned him about this too, the pictures had been taken years ago and did not accurately reflect the current state of affairs. But the roof, orange tiled, gleamed in the sun. The wooden gable was green, which was a pleasant contrast with the white-washed walls below. He didn’t see any peeling paint, which was the first item on the checklist Ash had handed him. ‘It’s not a thorough inspection,’ he’d explained, ‘but it’s an indication. And these are things you can see for yourself, too.’</p><p class="western">So. Four walls, all still standing. No peeling paint. No holes in the roof. This was off to a great start. Remington felt his nerves settle a little. Behind him, Ashford made an appreciative noise. ‘Looks good,’ he said. ‘Nice place.’</p><p class="western">Remington turned around. ‘Is this the kind of inspection that would cost me 200 pounds?’</p><p class="western">The werewolf looked surprised. ‘Was that a joke?’ he asked, dark blue eyes widening with fake shock.</p><p class="western">Remington rolled his eyes and turned back to the house. ‘I’m trying, alright,’ he said, ignoring the flutter of nausea in his stomach. He wasn’t even sure why he was trying to make jokes like Ashford did, or why he was feeling nauseous whenever Ashford looked at him like that, and he wasn’t sure he liked it either. But Ashford smiled and Remington’s nerves settled even more. ‘Let’s go inside,’ he said, brandishing his brand new keys.</p><p class="western">He opened the door and stepped inside. And stopped immediately again as behind him, Ashford began to sneeze with a violence that almost made him jump. Remington couldn’t blame him; clouds of dust swirled up from the ancient carpet as he walked and that, combined with the heavy scent of tobacco, stale coffee and potpourri hanging in the air, already made his own eyes water. He could only begin to imagine what it would do to a werewolf’s nose.</p><p class="western">After only a moment’s hesitation, he closed his eyes and focused. He would regret this later, he knew, but at least it stopped Ashford’s bouts of sneezing, which were coming faster and faster the more dust got disturbed by the draft coming through the open door.</p><p class="western">Silence. The sneezing stopped. Then, in an almost accusatory tone, Ashford said: ‘You <em>do </em>do magic.’</p><p class="western">‘Just this once,’ Remington said, shaking his head. ‘Can’t have you sneezing over all my stuff and anyway. Tobacco is a bitch to get out of the wallpaper.’</p><p class="western">‘No, of course, I didn’t mean…’ Ashford started, then stopped. ‘Thanks.’</p><p class="western">‘Don’t mention it,’ Remington said, and quickly made his way into the hallway proper so he could take a look into the first room. Before he could get there, however, he was stopped again by a noise from Ashford. And this time, the noise was ‘oh shit’.</p><p class="western">That did not sound good. Remington turned around, curious as to what kind of disaster the werewolf could already have discovered ten seconds after walking into the house. ‘What’s wrong?’</p><p class="western">Ashford had pulled open a panel in the wall right behind the door that Remington hadn’t even noticed and was staring inside with a baffled expression that did not do anything for Remington’s mounting sense of dread. ‘Ashford?’</p><p class="western">‘This,’ Ashford said, almost in awe, ‘is either the most ingenious or the most dangerous fuse cupboard I have ever seen. In my life.’</p><p class="western">Remington peeked inside. He could not see anything obviously amiss, other than the fact that there seemed to be a lot of cables and wires inside, and some of them were connected to each other before ending at a power outlet. ‘I don’t see it.’</p><p class="western">‘You see all those cables, do you?’ Ashford asked. Remington had the distinct impression that he was both horrified and trying not to laugh. ‘Those should not, and I repeat, <em>not </em>be connected like that. And as for the fuse box itself...’ He pointed at a panel containing a number of what looked like large, grubby white plugs and shook his head. ‘These fuses are <em>ancient. </em>If this is an indication of the way this house has been upgraded, then, damn. You might be looking at a <em>ton </em>of work that needs to be done before it’s safe to live here.’</p><p class="western">That was not really what Remington had wanted to hear. ‘I thought it was just outdated,’ he said, unsure. This was clearly Ashford’s territory and he realized that, while the werewolf might not always be the brightest, he was the expert here and Remington very much was not.</p><p class="western">‘Outdated is one word for it,’ Ashford replied, finally closing the panel. ‘Medieval is another. Personally, though, I’d go with ‘fire hazard.’</p><p class="western">‘Right.’ Remington breathed out. ‘OK. Moving on. Remember, we’re not here yet for the technicalities.’</p><p class="western">‘Pretty important technicalities though,’ Ashford muttered behind him. Remington pretended not to hear. Instead he led the way through the wood-paneled hallway to the first door on their left, which turned out to be the living room.</p><p class="western">And which was filled to the brim with stuff. It wasn’t just furniture and it wasn’t just boxes and it wasn’t just knickknacks; it was all of that and more, piles and piles of books in one corner, a jumble of boxes stacked on top of a coffee table, sofas and chairs arranged in some semblance of a semicircle and covered in papers, in smaller boxes, in more books, in <em>stuff. </em>Remington could not even step aside before he banged his shin on the corner of another coffee table; he stumbled and caught himself by the back of a kitchen chair that was right in front of him. On the chair, a box slid off and landed with a <em>thunk. </em>The box burst open at the top and spilled a wave of grainy photographs over the small piece of flooring that was still visible.</p><p class="western">Behind Remington, Ashford whistled. ‘That is a lot of crap.’</p><p class="western">Gritting his teeth at the pain that was shooting up to his knee, Remington nodded. ‘It is a lot. Crap, I’m not sure. But a lot, yeah.’</p><p class="western">He took another careful step. Pushed a box out of the way, took another step and found himself next to a dark red leather sofa. ‘Because this, to me, looks like a genuine Chesterfield. And if I’m right, and if it’s still in good conditions after we’ve removed all this other <em>crap, </em>then this will <em>more </em>than pay for that fuse thing you showed me.’</p><p class="western">‘Are you sure?’ Ashford laughed. ‘I mean, that’s a couple of thousand, at least, if you want to take rewiring into account. Which you do want to do, by the way.’</p><p class="western">Remington stood up and grinned. ‘Oh yes. I’m sure. Now. Let’s get to work.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">After a bit of shoving and pulling so they could at least clear a path in and out of the room, they set up a system. Remington would do the sorting and then Ashford did the heavy lifting: this meant that after Remington declared the kitchen chairs ‘cheap sticks worth ten pounds at most’, Ashford would take them out and load them into his van. A heavy oaken coffee table on the other hand, the one Remington had banged his leg against, was deemed an antique and therefore put aside until further notice. Ashford remarked that it might be nice for Ms. Nell to have, to which Remington had looked thoughtful.</p><p class="western">‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘I’ll ask her.’</p><p class="western">With most of the furniture out of the way, Ashford was relegated to picking up the boxes and stacking them against the wall to clear the rest of the floor. Meanwhile, Remington set to sorting out the smaller items, such as the spill of photographs on the floor.</p><p class="western">‘Are you going to keep those?’ Ashford asked, when he noticed Remington carefully placing the photographs one by one on the largest table. ‘It’s just old pictures. Of people who are probably dead by now.’</p><p class="western">‘I told you,’ Remington said, picking up a picture of a grinning grandfather, sporting a cane, a cap and one entire tooth. ‘I like old things. And they may be ‘just old pictures’ to you, but there are stores in the city who will gladly take these off my hands. They won’t pay much, but. It’s something.’</p><p class="western">Ashford set down a box and wandered over. ‘People pay for this?’ he asked, glancing doubtfully at what looked like a wedding picture. None of the people, including the couple, were smiling. ‘Why?’</p><p class="western">‘Why do people do anything?’ Remington shot back. ‘Some people like to collect books, or teaspoons, or rubber ducks. And some people collect old pictures.’</p><p class="western">‘Alright.’ Ashford stepped back. ‘No offense.’</p><p class="western">Remington sighed. ‘None taken. Sorry. It’s just… sometimes people don’t get why you like certain stuff. And it gets on your nerves. Like...’ He paused, not even sure he meant to say all of this, but then went on anyway. ‘Like the blanket thing.’</p><p class="western">‘What do you mean?’ Ashford asked. Remington could see he genuinely did not understand. ‘Why shouldn’t you make blankets?’</p><p class="western">‘Because it’s a ‘female’ thing to do?’ Remington said, with air quotes. ‘Which I’m not, by the way,’ he added, just to be sure. He assumed Ashford had sniffed that little tidbit out when they met, literally, so he didn’t bother to explain further. ‘I mean, I picked it up when I was eleven. And then, when I… when I grew up, everybody assumed...’ His throat tightened, the way it always did when going back there. ‘Everybody assumed I’d drop it, because I was a guy after all and guys don’t do crafts.’</p><p class="western">‘Right,’ Ashford said slowly. ‘OK. But that’s bullshit.’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah.’ Remington turned back to his photographs. He hadn’t even meant to start this conversation, let alone finish it like this. ‘Don’t have to tell me.’</p><p class="western">After that, they worked in silence for a while, with Ashford stacking boxes and Remington clearing the room of smaller junk. Most of it was junk, old and faded newspapers and magazines, books that fell apart just by looking at them, a rather substantial amount of empty plastic bags for some reason, and the general detritus of a household: coins, paperclips, hairpins and other small items that Remington started collecting in a large, neon pink fruit bowl to sort out later. And it was nice. It was quiet and Remington’s head hurt a little from the magic trick he pulled earlier, but outside, the sun was shining, aside from the fuse cupboard Ashford had so far not found anything else that was disastrously wrong with the house and Remington could have spent all day like that, sorting through a room full of stuff and occasionally fishing out nuggets that might or might not be interesting.</p><p class="western">And then Ashford pulled away the large table that stood against the far wall and whistled again. Remington, already associating that sound with impending doom, groaned. ‘Please tell me it’s not the electricity this time.’</p><p class="western">‘Nope.’ Ashford stepped back. ‘It’s gas.’</p><p class="western">Remington stood up and joined him next to the table, which he had already designated as firewood. It had been hiding something that looked like a hearth, with a large metal roof that sloped down on three sides, ending in a grille on the bottom. There were some grimy buttons and dials on top, which Remington eyed with suspicion. ‘Oh wow. I’ve never seen one of those before.’</p><p class="western">‘Bet you haven’t,’ Ashford said cheerfully. ‘This, my friend, is a good old-fashioned gas heater. Not electricity, but it is expensive to replace. And yes,’ he went on when he saw the question Remington was about to ask, ‘you do want to replace this. They work well, but in my experience, the less gas there is in a house, the better. It has a tendency to go boom, you know.’</p><p class="western">Remington believed him at his word. ‘Alright. But, just out of curiosity. How does it work?’</p><p class="western">Ashford glanced at him sideways. ‘You want to try it out? Not afraid it’ll blow up in your face?’</p><p class="western">Remington rolled his eyes. ‘If it was going to blow up in my face, you’d have told me. Just show me how it works.’ For early November, it was still warm enough outside and with all the work they had been doing, he didn’t really feel cold yet. But it might still be useful to know how to get the heating going.</p><p class="western">‘Alright.’ Ashford bent down and turned a dial on the back of the heater. ‘This might take some time, though. If it hasn’t been on for a while, it’s going to take a minute to get going again.’</p><p class="western">He pressed two other buttons and Remington heard a faint click. Other than that, nothing happened.</p><p class="western">‘Yup,’ Ashford said cheerfully. ‘Alright. I’m going to stand here like this for the next five minutes or so. You can start lifting boxes.’ He held one of the buttons down firmly and clicked the other a couple of times. Now Remington noticed a spark, visible through a tiny hole on top of the heater. ‘Hey, it’s working!’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah, the ignition is working,’ Ashford explained. ‘But there’s some air in there, which has mixed in with the gas so it’s not igniting anything yet. So I’m going to wait until that has cleared and… oh, there we are. Let’s try again.’</p><p class="western">He clicked the smaller button once more and this time, there was a faint <em>woomph. </em>A small flame went up inside the hole where Remington had previously seen the spark. Ashford, still holding down his button, now started carefully turning another dial. Soon, the small flame spread and the heater lit up, filling the room with the smell of hot dust.</p><p class="western">‘Let’s keep this on for a bit,’ Ashford said, stepping back. ‘Old things like these, they’re pretty indestructible but only if you keep using them.’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded, taking a mental note of the buttons and dials Ashford had used. It was almost time for a lunch break and they were halfway through clearing the first room; he could see himself spending a lot of time here in the near future, and it would be nice not to freeze to death while he was sorting through the previous residents’ belongings.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">After lunch, and with most of the smaller items in the living room put away, Remington left Ash to his boxes for a moment and went on to check out the rest of the rooms. All of them were laid out on the ground floor; none of them were as filled with stuff as the living room was, but there were still plenty of personal belongings left to sort through. Not for the first time, Remington found himself wondering who had lived here and why they had chosen to leave their entire life behind in this house.</p><p class="western">The smell when he had opened the front door for the first time, along with the heavy oaken furniture and the pictures he had seen, all spoke of elderly people. Perhaps without any relatives, children or young friends who could take care of them, who could make sure they didn’t drown in a house that had grown too big for them. Perhaps they’d been finally admitted into a retirement home, or perhaps they had passed away, and there had been no one to come and make sure their memories were kept safe.</p><p class="western">Well. There was someone. He glanced back at the living room, where Ashford was apparently done with moving furniture in silence. The sound of classic rock music drifted through the hallway and Remington smiled. Some werewolf stereotypes were there for a reason.</p><p class="western">By now, he had moved through the hallway, past the ancient kitchen, located on the opposite side of the living room; past a tiny bathroom, where the bars on the wall once again spoke of the age and failing health of the people that had lived here. Three bedrooms, only one of which contained a bed and wardrobe. The others were mostly empty. And going by the faded wallpaper and curling carpet, nobody had set foot in them for a long time. At last, he came to the utility room at the back of the house. Here he found a washing machine and dryer and another fridge, all neatly and thankfully disconnected from their sockets. Shelves on the wall were once again filled, this time with boxes of washing powder that were so faded with time, he could barely make out their original color. A drying rack leaned against the wall, old wooden pegs hanging upside down as if in mourning. Remington knew how they felt.</p><p class="western">‘Alright,’ he muttered, closing the door behind him. ‘Might as well get this over with.’</p><p class="western">After a moment to locate a spot on the wall that wasn’t too grubby, he reached out. The stucco felt cold and rough under his hand and he resisted the urge to let go. Instead he closed his eyes, breathed out and said: ‘Hey there.’</p><p class="western">For a long second, nothing happened. Then, a subtle shift in the air and Remington tilted his head. ‘Yes. I’m sorry about taking away the smell. That was rude of me. My apologies.’</p><p class="western">Another shift, slower this time.</p><p class="western">‘My name’s Remington, by the way. And my friend is named Ashford.’</p><p class="western">This time, a cold draft that did not come from the direction of either door.</p><p class="western">‘Yes, I know he’s taking away all the things. But he’ll be careful. And me too. I promise.’</p><p class="western">The draft died down.</p><p class="western">‘It’ll be okay,’ Remington said gently. ‘I know it hurts. To be left alone like this. But I’ll take care of you. You’ll be good as new in a bit.’</p><p class="western">He could almost hear the sigh of relief and he smiled. ‘Now. Can you please show me what it was like before?’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">
  <em>The smell hit him first. Potpourri, tobacco and cheap washing powder, a volatile combination that made his nose itch and his eyes water. He turned and noticed it was dark outside and the room he was in, was clean. The drying rack stood open and someone had hung half a dozen tea towels out to dry. They were frayed and thin and the color had faded from bright blue to a soft pastel.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Remington turned and opened the door to the hallway. Faint chatter filled the air, a radio or TV perhaps. He made his way towards the sound coming from the living room and looked inside.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Two people. A women and a man, both well into their seventies. Early eighties, perhaps. They were indeed watching TV, or at least the woman was. The old gas heater was roaring, making the room feel stuffy and hot. The man was fast asleep, bald head lolling to the side of his armchair and his mouth slightly open. The woman kept one eye on the TV and one eye on her husband, her blue eyes looking worried behind her horn-rimmed glasses. If Remington hadn’t seen the man’s chest moving up and down at regular intervals, he would have been worried too.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>He glanced behind him. Near the front door, two wheeled walkers stood side by side. The house, from what he was seeing, was only slightly less grubby than it was in the present and his heart hurt a little.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>He looked back in the living room, scanning around and not finding what he was looking for and his heart hurt even more. No pictures. No family photos, no children or grandchildren smiling down at them from the walls or livening up the bookcases.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>These people were alone. And they were old and… Here Remington reached out a small tendril of magic. He never did this on living people, because it was a gross violation of privacy, but these two were long gone. One moment was enough and he drew back sharply.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>These people were old. Their health was failing. They were alone and they were very, very scared.</em>
</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">‘You loved them very much, didn’t you,’ Remington whispered, opening his eyes again. They were stinging. He blinked. ‘I felt that.’</p><p class="western">The air in the room was quiet now and Remington took a breath. He was swaying on his feet, he realized, and he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes again. Just for a moment. It had been a long time since he’d gone that deep and he was going to regret this later, but it had been necessary. He could already feel the house around him, slowly attuning itself to his presence, and he smiled. ‘I promise,’ he said softly, stroking one hand against the dirty plaster. ‘I’ll make things right again.’</p><p class="western">Then he opened his eyes, looked up and saw Ashford standing in the doorway. ‘Are you… are you talking to the <em>house?’ </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Despite the sheer amount of junk, Ash kind of liked the house. It was a little weird that it didn’t really smell of anything anymore, especially for a place that had clearly been lived in for a long time. And Ash could probably have managed without Remington’s help, but he was not complaining. Especially the potpourri would have been hell on his sensitive nose. And scents could be replaced very easily.</p><p class="western">There were already some new smells forming: the old dust burning away on the gas heater, old paper and books being disturbed, his own sweat and Remington’s mix of tea and iron were already mingling in the stuffy air. Ash had opened a window, because with the gas heater going, the room quickly became sweltering, especially for a hot-blooded werewolf who had been lifting heavy objects all day.</p><p class="western">He stacked the last of the boxes against the wall and turned around to see that he was alone in the room. He’d noticed Remington wandering out some time ago, but he’d assumed the witch had needed the bathroom. But now that he thought about it, that had been a while ago and he also had not heard any complaints or general comments when he had turned on the music on his phone.</p><p class="western">He looked around. The floor was mostly clear now. Ash could see that the scraping and dragging of heavy oaken furniture had left their marks and he did some quick mental arithmetic to add the costs of new flooring to those of replacing the electrical wiring and the gas heating. At the conclusion, he whistled. And when even that whistle didn’t produce Remington, fear in his eyes and demanding what the hell was wrong <em>now¸</em> Ash shook his head and went out to see if the witch hadn’t accidentally gotten himself stuck in the toilet bowl.</p><p class="western">He wasn’t even out the door before the smell of tea and iron hit him again and this time, it was <em>strong. </em>Stronger than at Willow’s Close, stronger even than it had been in Remington’s apartment. So strong he could almost taste it. Ash stopped and stood perfectly still. He knew what this meant.</p><p class="western">Remington was doing magic. Again.</p><p class="western">Ash also knew he should probably stay in the living room. If Remington was doing magic, he was probably doing it somewhere else just so that Ash wouldn’t see. And knowing the witch, and knowing his distaste for werewolves in general and his caginess where his magic was concerned, Ash should definitely <em>not </em>go out into the hallway and follow the scent until he came to the utility room. And when he came to the utility room, he definitely should <em>not </em>open the door.</p><p class="western">And once he had opened the door, he should not have stayed and stared at Remington, who stood in leaning against the wall with one hand, eyes closed and gently swaying back and forth. Ashford watched, mesmerized because this was a witch in his element and it was beautiful. Remington’s posture, normally taut as a bowstring, was fully relaxed. His shoulders were hanging low, his free arm was slowly swinging along with his rocking movement and there was a peace and serenity on his face that Ash had never seen before. He suddenly looked impossibly young and Ash realized, with a bit of a shock, that he had never thought of Remington as someone his own age, even though the witch couldn’t be that much older than him.</p><p class="western">Then Remington smiled and Ash stopped breathing for a moment. Every other time he’d seen the witch smile, it had always been just a quirk of the mouth, barely there before it was gone and always accompanied by a healthy dose of sarcasm. But this smile was genuine, soft and filled with a quiet joy that pulled on something Ash hadn’t known he still had inside him.</p><p class="western">‘I promise,’ Remington said, his voice suddenly loud in the silence. ‘I’ll make things right again.’</p><p class="western">Then he opened his eyes and saw Ash. All of a sudden, the calm, almost happy expression was gone, replaced by one of fury, suspicion and, although Ash smelled this one more than he could see, fear.</p><p class="western">‘Are you talking to the <em>house</em>?’ Ash blurted out.</p><p class="western">Remington took a step back, once again tense and Ash could feel the wall between them rise up again, the wall he had worked <em>so hard </em>on to remove without really knowing why. Other than the fact that he liked this witch and wanted him to have nice things, such as friends.</p><p class="western">‘I meant,’ he said, thinking quickly. ‘I mean… that’s… I didn’t know you could <em>do</em> that. At least, I don’t think our pack witch can do that and he’s pretty powerful. Do you talk to Willow’s Close too? I mean, I guess you do because it smells the same there as in here and I mean, you live there so I bet you do. I think it’s great,’ he went on, aware that he was rambling but unable to stop. Remington still smelled scared and he was still looking at Ash like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.</p><p class="western">‘I think it’s great,’ Ash repeated, losing steam but still pressing on because letting silence fall would be even worse. ‘Talking to a house. I bet it can tell you a lot and, you know. That’s really cool. Did it, ah. Did it say something about what needs repairing?’ he finally finished, trying a smile. He was pretty sure it came out as a grimace.</p><p class="western">Remington swallowed and moved his lips, but no sound came out. Then he blinked, dragged a hand over his face and rasped: ‘No. No repairs.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh,’ Ash said, relieved beyond measure. ‘OK. I’ll check for myself then, when we’re done clearing up.’ He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. ‘In fact, living room’s almost clear. Just the boxes to go through and the furniture you want to sell, but I don’t think you’ll need my help for that, so. How about we head home for today? Come back tomorrow, or, or later, or whenever you need me to lift some more stuff out of the way.’</p><p class="western">With that, he turned and fled back to the living room, not waiting for Remington to respond. It wasn’t until he had turned off the heater, closed all the windows and gathered his things that he saw the witch all but run through the hallway and out the front door.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">‘What the hell did you <em>do</em>?’ Orla asked the next night during dinner. Remington hadn’t come down. Ash was not surprised, but it did sting a little, no matter how much he told himself that it was all his own damn fault. ‘Remington never misses dinner when he’s home and when I went down, I heard him blasting his crochet music so loud I almost heard his cat yelling at him to turn it down. I thought you’d become friends!’</p><p class="western">Yeah, well, so did Ash. He speared a piece of roast potato on his fork. ‘I don’t know. Tread on a toe, I suppose.’</p><p class="western">He didn’t feel comfortable telling them about what he saw. It was obvious that Remington did not like magic, did not like doing magic, did <em>not </em>like doing magic in front of others and <em>did not </em>like talking about magic. If he was pissed at Ash now, Ash wasn’t going to add to that by blabbing about the witch’s business behind his back.</p><p class="western">‘Remington’s toes are rather long,’ Beau remarked sadly. ‘I once advised him about the color scheme in the drapes he was working on. He did not appreciate that and he banned me from his flat for a week.’</p><p class="western">Ash doubted their experiences were similar, but he appreciated the commiseration. ‘That must’ve hurt.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh, it did,’ Beau nodded gravely. ‘And he <em>was </em>using a rather unappealing shade of puce. Me pointing that out was no reason to shut me out like that. Colliding with a wall you are usually able to pass through is incredibly painful, I can tell you.’</p><p class="western">‘Can’t relate,’ Orla muttered and Ash almost snorted. Then he paused. Because that was interesting. ‘You mean he did something to the walls? Or to you?’</p><p class="western">‘I couldn’t tell you,’ Beau replied, still looking affronted. ‘I am not familiar with the ways of witches. All I know is that I meant to go through his living room to Ms. Petronella’s flat because it is shorter than taking the staircase, and I found myself instead with rather a nasty headache. I suppose if I had still been corporeal, it would have left quite a mark.’ He prodded at his forehead with his index finger. ‘Hurt like the blazes.’</p><p class="western">House magic. Ash was certain of it. Remington could work magic with buildings, with houses, with <em>homes. </em>Talking to buildings, stripping them of their scent, making walls close up to keep others out, it all fell into place. Even the secondhand stores and the blanket thing were a sign, now that he thought about it.</p><p class="western">Around him, the conversation moved from Beau’s grievance to Orla explaining how <em>this </em>time, she was sure she had a lead. By now, Ash had been in Willow’s Close long enough to know that her leads usually came to nothing, and that he should not be too concerned if they didn’t. Of course Orla wanted her coat back. She missed her sisters in Brighton fiercely and Ash did feel for her whenever she showed up to dinner with red-rimmed eyes and a despairing expression. But when her lead fell through, Orla fell back on a support system stronger than Ash had ever seen; Ms. Nell made the most delicious and sumptuous brownies; Pearl, without fail, promised her she’d burn the motherfucker down whenever Orla found him, affirming that she <em>would </em>find him and it was only a matter of time; Beau never failed to mention he would haunt the rake for all eternity and even Remington, cold and distant as he usually was, could be seen to offer a sympathetic smile and once, when he thought that no one was looking, a brief hug that had shocked Orla right out of her depressed state.</p><p class="western">And then Orla went back upstairs, turned off the music, and got right back to hacking. It was a cycle, and by now, Ash had become familiar enough with the way things went that he sat back and listened, without really paying attention.</p><p class="western">House magic. He had not heard of that before, but it made so much sense that it couldn’t really be anything else. He would have to ask Lewis about it if he wanted to know more; he doubted Remington would appreciate it if he asked him.</p><p class="western">He swallowed down another chunk of potato and tried not to feel the way his stomach churned at the memory of that afternoon: of Remington, glaring at him, dark eyes narrow and furious and all his hackles up and yet so, so afraid.</p><p class="western">The thirty minute drive back to Willow’s Close had been agony on both sides. Ash had been half afraid that Remington would chose to walk home rather than get back into Ash’ van, but when Ash walked into the driveway, he could see the witch already hunched in the passenger seat. They had driven back in silence, Ash not even daring to turn on the radio to lift the air. And not even daring to apologize either. The words <em>I’m sorry </em>were at the back of his throat, struggling to come out, and yet he held them back. He’d said quite enough back there, in that damned utility room.</p><p class="western">And then, when they finally got back, Remington had bolted from the van and fled upstairs. And Ash hadn’t seen him since.</p><p class="western">‘And anyway, so I said, ‘<em>sir, I </em>know<em> this sauce is hot, that is the </em>point,’ Pearl said. There was a sound of general hilarity and Ash blinked. Apparently it was now time for the weekly segment of ‘Pearl claps back at someone trying to be condescending to the pretty young lady’. It was a good segment and Ash enjoyed it a lot. ‘And then I thought <em>fuck it</em> and downed the whole bottle in one go,’ Pearl finished with a wide grin. ‘I didn’t get a picture of his face, but it was <em>glorious.’</em></p><p class="western">Even Ash started to laugh. And when Mr. Donner, with that sly smile that meant the vampire was probably dying with laughter on the inside, inquired whether the hot sauce had been vegan and if so, if Pearl could bring him a bottle, Ash forgot about his surly witch completely and howled his laughter along with the others.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">‘Hey cub.’</p><p class="western">Ash smiled and relaxed. He was 28 years old, 1.95m tall and over 200 pounds and yet his mother would call him cub until the day she died. ‘Hey mum. How’s it going?’</p><p class="western">‘Good!’ His mother sounded cheerful. ‘It’s been a little quiet lately, but we’re doing okay. Olivia got her internship at the bank, so that’s great news.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh that’s great! Tell her well done!’ Ash grinned. ‘And tell her not to check people’s bank accounts before she decides to date them or not.’</p><p class="western">‘I’m sure she hasn’t even thought of that,’ his mother said reproachfully. But Ash knew his baby sister. ‘Mom, she rejected Robert because he told her money couldn’t buy happiness. Not saying he wasn’t an asshole either way, but still.’</p><p class="western">His mother hummed. ‘Perhaps. But I’m not going to put any ideas in her head that weren’t already there. And speaking of dumping…’</p><p class="western">Ash sat up straight. ‘Oh no.’</p><p class="western">‘Nick came by a couple of days ago,’ his mother went on. She didn’t sound as cheerful anymore. ‘He looked upset and he asked where you were.’</p><p class="western">‘You didn’t…’</p><p class="western">‘No, of course I didn’t tell him.’ Ash breathed a sigh of relief. ‘And of course, I understand you had good reason to break up with him, even though you would not tell us what that reason was. We all respect your privacy in this matter.’</p><p class="western">Ash slumped back on the sofa. ‘But…’</p><p class="western">‘But that boy simply looked <em>awful,’ </em>his mother said. ‘I don’t think he’s slept in days and he <em>stank </em>of frozen dinners and pizza. I don’t think he is taking care of himself at all and… well, I’m a little worried. Of course, I know you’re doing better without him,’ she said quickly. ‘But it’s just… it’s a little heartbreaking, that’s all.’</p><p class="western">Silence fell. And dragged on as Ash worked around the tightness in his throat and the lump in his stomach. It was true that he had never told anyone exactly why he’d broken up with Nick; if he had, he doubted his mother would be so kind-hearted. Instead, he was pretty sure that she would have been the first one to tear him in two.</p><p class="western">Which was exactly why he never told anyone. Those kinds of things could start a pack war, and he was not going to be responsible for that.</p><p class="western">‘Anyway,’ his mom finished after it was clear Ash wasn’t going to say anything in response. ‘I just thought I’d let you know. How is your new job going?’</p><p class="western">When he rang off fifteen minutes later, Ash still felt the cold lump of bitter disappointment in his gut. It was so heavy that, for a moment, he was unable to move and he sat, staring into space for a long time.</p><p class="western">It wasn’t like he hadn’t <em>tried </em>to make things better. And usually, werewolves <em>did </em>mate for life and he supposed he should be glad no one of his pack had pointed that out. Announcing his breakup (he hadn’t even said he had been the one to break up at first; just that things ‘weren’t working out’) had been received with shock, of course. Surprise, too. It had taken his mum a while to even believe him, and he hadn’t been sure she did until he moved back into the pack house and then out to Willow’s Close.</p><p class="western">And maybe it would have worked out, despite the fact that the romance had leaked out of their relationship years ago. Maybe Ash could have worked just a little harder, and maybe he could have put up with Nick being… well, Nick. Maybe he could have put up with the forgotten anniversaries and birthdays, and the remarks about his intelligence or lack thereof and the fact that it was always Nick who decided everything, never even considering Ash might have some ideas or opinions himself.</p><p class="western">Maybe he could have accepted that. If it hadn’t been for the day that Nick threw out his plants.</p><p class="western">Ash supposed he should be sort of grateful. If he had ripped his own heart in two by dumping Nick, then knowing Nick was the kind of guy who would throw out someone else’s things without a second thought, went a long way in making sure the damage didn’t stick.</p><p class="western">He breathed in deeply. Thinking of Nick would probably hurt for a long time, and he’d better get used to it. He finally sat up, still moving slowly, and reached for his phone again. It had been a long week, full of work, withdrawing witches and ever-present ex-boyfriends. His sister Olivia had something she called ‘retail therapy’, which, to Ash, looked like an excuse to go shopping every single time she was inconvenienced in a minor way. But he could not deny the power of distraction and also, his new flat was still very much devoid of greenery.</p><p class="western">He opened the internet browser on his phone. It was time to find a gardening center.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Remington had never managed to make a commissioned blanket in less than a month. But after getting back from his new house, he went into his flat, ignored Lady Jane’s concerned look, grabbed his nearest commissioned pattern and set to work. He worked for hours until his eyes burned and he had to keep stop and frog his stitch because his fingers refused to cooperate and finally realized that it had long gone dark, that he was starving and that it was long past time to go to bed.</p><p class="western">He groaned and rubbed his eyes. Exhausted wasn’t even the right word anymore; he felt spent, completely burnt out. Part of it was the magic. It had been a long time since he’d gone that deep and he had known that a reckoning would be presented later. But the other part of it…</p><p class="western">The other part of it had been getting caught doing magic. <em>His </em>magic, which had given him so much grief over the years that sometimes, he just wanted to rip it all out and be done with it. He could still hear Ashford’s shocked voice, the disbelief, the hint of laughter as he asked if Remington was talking to the <em>house </em>of all things.</p><p class="western">It’d been stupid. To go there in the first place, with a werewolf in the same house, and then to go that deep? Stupid, unforgivably stupid. No matter how much the werewolf might have attempted to talk down to him, to chatter and distract, Remington had already known that he’d gone too far. He’d crossed a line again. The werewolf now knew what he did, and if he didn’t know yet because he was slow on the uptake, he would get there soon enough.</p><p class="western">His crochet hook clattered to the ground and shook him out of his stupor. After a moment’s deliberation, he decided in favor of his stomach and trekked to the kitchen. He dug up an ancient frozen dinner out the back of his freezer and stared at it as it spun round and round in his microwave. The ding was loud in the quiet and he almost burned his fingers when opening the foil. He swore and scooped the rice with chunks on a plate, then covering it with red goop that was probably meant to be tandoori.</p><p class="western">It didn’t taste like tandoori. It tasted mainly of salt and if Remington had had any other option, he would have thrown it out. As it was, he managed half of it, scooped the rest into the trash and left the dish in the sink to fend for itself until tomorrow.</p><p class="western">Then he went to bed, and dreamt once again of snarling faces and eyes that glowed yellow in the darkness.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">The next days were only slightly better. The residual magic fog cleared a little, which was good. But he kept seeing the werewolf’s shocked face, kept hearing him say <em>the house? </em>in that incredulous tone of voice and it kept stinging, no matter what he did.</p><p class="western">So he made blankets. He finished three commissions in record time, started working on two others and then, because he had nothing better to do, opened up his online store to the first ten people who filled out the order form. That was ambitious and he would probably have to do some back and forth to manage expectations because no, ordering a blanket did not mean he would start working on them right away and the buyer would receive the finished project a week later.</p><p class="western">He received the first order the next day and he smiled when he saw it. It was one of his favorite patterns: not too intricate to make, but with a lot of different elements that meant the work would not become boring after a while. The patron had left the color scheme up to him, but asked for ‘something colorful in like, a beachy vibe I guess’.</p><p class="western">This was going to be fun.</p><p class="western">He shut his laptop and went over to one of the bookcases. The large plastic box labeled <em>swatches </em>was perched on top, well out of the way of the gnomes who were aware of its existence and who had already staged several heists to get it down to their level. So far, they had been unsuccessful. Remington took the box, set it on the floor and tipped it over. Tiny balls of yarn spilled over the hardwood floor.</p><p class="western">‘Beachy,’ Remington muttered, already picking some balls up and tossing them back into the box. ‘Let’s see…’</p><p class="western">The patron had wanted cotton. So all the acrylics, which weren’t Remington’s favorite anyway, went back in the box, along with the wool and merino. He didn’t use those often, because they were expensive and most people wanted cotton or acrylic anyway; but it was nice to have, just in case. Remington worked quietly, under the watchful gaze of Lady Jane, picking out colors and setting them to one side, rejecting others and putting them back in the box. It took a while before he was satisfied, and his body let him know that it wasn’t pleased by perching on the floor for almost two hours, but he didn’t care. Two hours of having to focus on anything but magic, on anything but judgmental werewolves, was well worth with feeling like an old man for the rest of the afternoon.</p><p class="western">Old man. That brought him back and he made a face. He had found the names of the couple who had owned his new house before him in the deed; he had not yet been able to bring himself to look for more information.</p><p class="western">He should probably get to that at some point.</p><p class="western">He could also go back to the house and see.</p><p class="western">That thought gave him another pause. Lady Jane, seeing her chance, pounced on a ball of yarn that had rolled under the table, but Remington didn’t notice.</p><p class="western">Could he go back to the house and see? It meant tapping into his magic again, which wasn’t all that appealing. But on the other hand, he didn’t have to take the werewolf with him this time. It would just be him, and the house. If anyone asked, which they probably wouldn’t, he could say he was going to make a start at sorting through all those boxes, which wouldn’t be entirely a lie; he could very well do that and enter into the house at the same time.</p><p class="western">He looked back at the concept of a color scheme he’d come to. Took out his phone, took a picture and emailed it to his client for approval. It looked nice. Creams and browns at first, changing slowly to lues and greens to mark the transition from sand to sea; then those colors fading into pink, orange, light blue and white to represent a setting sun in the sky. He wasn’t sure that was what the client had meant, but that’s what you got when you gave the creator free rein.</p><p class="western">Then he went to rescue the runaway yarn from his cat, packed up the chosen colors in a separate box and put that even farther out of reach of any ambitious gnome escapades, and shrugged on his coat. The idea had taken hold of him now, and there was nothing else for it than to go and follow it, wherever it may lead.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Of course, on his way outside, he had to run face first into what seemed like an entire palm tree that had grown legs and was slowly making its way through the door.</p><p class="western">‘Oh, crap,’ the palm tree said with the werewolf’s voice. ‘Sorry. Hang on.’</p><p class="western">It was lowered a little and now Remington could see Ashford’s face, looking a bit uncertainly at him over the leaves. ‘Oh. Hey.’</p><p class="western">‘Hey,’ Remington muttered, stepping back to give the greenery more room. ‘Uhm. You got some plants.’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah.’ Ashford looked down, almost as if he was surprised at the small tree he’d just brought in. ‘Thought it was about time.’</p><p class="western">‘Good.’ Remington swallowed. His heartrate was picking up fast, he knew the werewolf could hear it and that didn’t help it slow down in the slightest. ‘Uhm. Do you think you could let me through? I’m going.... I’ve got to go out.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh, yes. Of course. Sorry.’ Ashford shoved the palm tree aside and held open the front door. ‘There you go. See you.’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded and left Willow’s Close as quickly as he could without outright running. He was shaking and after he had gotten into his car, he had to take a moment to get his breathing back under control.</p><p class="western">Fucking werewolves. Showing up where they were not wanted, when he did not want to see them.</p><p class="western">He shook himself. Took another deep breath and started the car. At least this time, there would be no prying eyes or noses around to watch him do his little tricks.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Little tricks.</em>
</p><p class="western">He hadn’t thought of that one in a while. He shuddered again. Then, setting his jaw in determination, he reversed the car, pulled out of his parking spot and drove away.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">When he got to the house, it was halfway through the afternoon. It was a nice day for November, sunny and Remington was pleasantly surprised to find the living room reasonably warm. The sun was shining through the large window that looked out on the street in front of the house and, with only the good furniture left and all the other stuff neatly packed aside, the room almost looked welcoming.</p><p class="western">Remington paused in the doorway. He was here for one purpose, sure. But he probably shouldn’t dive into that headfirst. He had been rude enough by stripping away the scent two seconds after opening the door for the first time; it might be a good idea to let the house settle around him for a bit, before he went probing into its past again.</p><p class="western">So instead he made his way to the wall of boxes and, with some effort, pulled the first one down and dragged it over to the sofa. The box weighed a ton and, not for the first time, Remington reflected on Ashford’s strength. He had made it look so easy, hauling around solid oaken chairs and lifting boxes like they were pingpong balls.</p><p class="western">But then again. Physical strength came with the werewolf territory. And that still wasn’t a very good pun.</p><p class="western">He sat down on the Chesterfield sofa and took a moment to get his breath back. Then he opened the box and smiled. Books were a <em>great </em>way to figure out what someone was like. He pulled out the first one.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Birds of a Feather, by Matthew Highthorn. Your guide to spotting every bird, from the Avocet to the yellowhammer.</em>
</p><p class="western">Below that, there were more. <em>The Pocket Guide to British Birds. Bird Basics. Birdwatching for Dummies. </em>Some of them were old, others still had a new shine to them. But all of them were well thumbed through and Remington got the distinct impression that he now knew a lot more of at least one of the house’s former residents.</p><p class="western">‘They liked birds, did they,’ he said softly. He looked up, out through the window at the barren patch of grass. A very weathered old birdfeeder stood in the middle, devoid of both birdfeed and birds. ‘That’s nice. I think I can work with that.’</p><p class="western">He looked around for the bowl in which he had put all the tiny trinkets and items that might come in useful, if only for gnome bribery. He rooted through it and unearthed a pen which, miracles of miracles, still worked. After locating an old envelope and making a mental note to bring his own notebook next time, he sat back down and started working out the rough basics of the plan that had been at the back of his mind since the lawyer’s office.</p><ol>
<li>
<p><em>Create a proper backyard. Fence off with tall hedgerow so people won’t see what’s going on from the street</em></p>
</li>
<li>
<p><em>Make house liveable but keep structure as is. Update wiring, gas heater etc. Don’t break down walls. Redecorate using as much of the old furniture as possible.</em></p>
</li>
<li>
<p><em>Offer house as remote location to Nell, for all creatures needing a break from the city. The djinn would love it here. Pearl can stretch her wings in the backyard and…</em></p>
</li>
</ol><p class="western">Remington paused and bit his lip. Then he sighed.</p><p>… <em>and Ashford won’t have to spend the full moon inside.</em></p><p class="western">It was true. And Remington didn’t have to like it, but if he was going to offer up this house to the residents of Willow’s Close, then he couldn’t exactly keep Ashford out of it. No matter how much he might want to.</p><p class="western">He made a face and put the list aside. He wasn’t here to think about the werewolf. He was here to work.</p><p class="western">He looked at the box of bird books again. He had never been much of a reader and he wasn’t sure what books were worth, but it seemed a bit disrespectful to not at least go through all of them before he sold them off wholesale. It would take some time, but that was alright. He had time.</p><p class="western">Surprisingly, the first box only took him twenty minutes to go through. After that, he had a pile of books that looked at least semi-interesting on one side, and a pile of books that, to him, looked like old paper on the other. There were three semi-interesting ones he decided to keep for now. The rest went back in the box. He would take those to a secondhand store later.</p><p class="western">He stood up and grabbed the next box. Which was full of romance novels. Of the kind he had <em>not </em>thought that sweet elderly lady he had seen would have been a fan of. But then again. Maybe that was just wishful thinking, because looking at the covers full of shirtless muscular heroes and swooning ladies in evening gowns, he also did not really <em>want </em>to think about a sweet elderly lady reading this. This time, he picked three books at random, which went on the small pile of birdwatching books in the corner of the Chesterfield. The rest went back in the box.</p><p class="western">He worked like this for an hour, opening box after box, sorting through the contents and selecting two or three books to keep, no matter the subject matter. After the books, he moved on to boxes with CD’s and these, he spent a lot more time on; so much time, in fact, that the sun was setting and the shadows in the room had grown longer before he was done. These people had an interesting taste in music, to say the least. There were only a couple of dozen CD’s he had to put back. He placed these in one of the book boxes, where they neatly filled up the gaps, and then carefully lowered the pile he had assembled on the Chesterfield in the now empty box in front of him.</p><p class="western">Then he looked around the room. It was really getting dark now and it was his luck that a streetlamp outside provided some light. He wasn’t sure he dared to turn on the light inside, not after Ashford’s warning about the electricity. But with the setting sun, the warmth had disappeared from the room as well, and Remington might not trust the electrical wiring. But he was still curious about the gas heater. Ashford had said that still worked fine, so there was probably no harm in trying to turn it on.</p><p class="western">He stood up and made his way over though the wall where the heater stood. Let’s see… Ashford had turned on something to the side first. Remington bent down, locating a tap-like knob, and twisting it. It was a little difficult to turn, but he managed. Then he stood up again, inspecting the buttons on top. After a moment’s deliberation, he pressed the larger one and held that down, then tried the smaller one with the faded lightning bolt next to it. It clicked and he grinned. That sounded like he was doing something right.</p><p class="western">He pressed the lightning bolt again. This time, it clicked and he saw the spark. One more click, one more spark and finally, he heard the muted <em>whoomph</em> and the spark became a tiny flame.</p><p class="western">Remington’s grin grew wider. He might not know much about old houses, but this, he could do. And then Ashford had turned <em>this </em>dial… he watched as the small flame grew bigger again, disappearing into the depths of the heater with a rush. Only seconds later, he felt the warmth against his legs, which was nothing compared to the warm glow of satisfaction he felt inside.</p><p class="western">He turned back to the room. It looked a little messy, with boxes now once again spread across the floor, so he spent some time lugging the ones he did not want to keep back against the wall. The other two he left standing near the sofa. He could call one of the secondhand stores later, see if they did pick-ups, if he did not want to ask Ashford again.</p><p class="western">That made him pause. And for the first time, he started to suspect that all of this, all of this avoiding and blaming the werewolf might just be the tiniest bit unfair. After all. It wasn’t like he’d been worse than, say, Remington’s old pack. If his mother had caught him like that in the utility room, so deep in his tricks that he didn’t even hear the door being opened… well. Let’s just say he would not have gotten off with a shocked expression and an awkward ramble.</p><p class="western">He shook his head. He’d have to think about that later. Right now, it was time to go back and see some more of the house and its former residents.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">
  <em>He stood in the doorway again, looking into the living room. They were younger this time, and the room was clean. This must have been a long time ago, which was confirmed when the woman turned on the television and Remington saw the face of Tony Blair. This time, there was no sound so he couldn’t hear what was going on. But looking at the TV, he did some quick mental calculations and estimated that he was looking at least twenty years into the past.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>The woman too, looked to be in her late fifties. She wore her henna-red hair in a typical late nineties bob and watched the PM speak from behind horn-rimmed glasses. The man, with a mop of dark curls although his hairline was receding already, was at the other end of the sofa, reading a book. Remington craned his neck and saw it was one of the birdwatching ones he had decided to keep. He smiled.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Other than their occupants’ age, the room itself looked younger too. It was clean and well-maintained; Remington could see the carefully vacuumed carpet and smell a faint whiff of all-purpose cleaner, in between the ghost of potpourri and tobacco. That last one came wafting up from the ashtray on the coffee table, in which he saw two sets of cigarettes. One with lipstick on the butt and one without.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>The atmosphere was almost peaceful. Domestic. Remington’s heart hurt a little when he saw the contented smile on the man’s face as he turned his pages. He stood in the doorway for a while, long enough for the woman to turn off the TV and pick up the phone, laughing and smiling as she talked to the person at the other end.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>These people hadn’t always been old and scared. There had been happiness here as well.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Suddenly, out of nowhere, things changed. He couldn’t say what was wrong, at first. But shadows grew longer. Corners grew darker. The faintest whispers were niggling at the edge of his hearing, hissing and muttering. His heart sped up and pressure started building in his chest, stronger and heavier than anything he’d felt before. The room was now swirling around him and he grew dizzy, reaching out a hand to grab the door, keep him upright. Nausea churned in his stomach and he was sure he was going to throw up and he didn’t know what was happening and for the first time he had walked into the house, he felt scared.</em>
</p><p class="western"><em>No. He felt </em>frightened.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Then the woman turned around and looked him straight in the eye. Remington’s heart stopped. Piercing blue eyes locked with his. The last thing he heard was ‘GET OUT’, and then everything went black.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">‘So you’ll do it?’ Ash asked the gnome. They were standing in the doorway to the barren wasteland that would, hopefully, soon become a backyard, the gnome perched precariously on a stack of books on a chair so he was around Ash’ height. ‘I mean. I know it’s not exactly what you usually do, but I do need some help with this.’</p><p class="western">The gnome chewed his bottom lip. ‘We get to keep <em>all </em>the pebbles?’</p><p class="western">‘All of them,’ Ash nodded. ‘And everything you can find that isn’t plants. I just need this place clear of rubble, whatever you do with it is up to you.’</p><p class="western">The gnome grinned, exposing a set of very small but very sharp teeth, and reached out a tiny hand. ‘Deal.’</p><p class="western">Ash offered his pinky finger and shook. ‘Thanks. Appreciate it.’</p><p class="western">‘We’ll start tomorrow, after morning rounds,’ the gnome said, clambering down from the book pile. ‘That OK?’</p><p class="western">‘Sure,’ Ash said. But the gnome had already vanished through a tiny gap between the floorboards.</p><p class="western">Ash looked outside and smiled. Today, it was a small patch of grass, barren earth and a lot of rubble, from plastic bottle caps to broken glass, from cigarette butts to crushed-up soda cans. Tomorrow, it would look a whole lot better and once the rubble was gone, he could <em>really </em>get to work. He could have done it without the gnomes, of course; it would only take about an hour with a broom and some gloves to clear most of it away. But he wanted this done right. He wanted every last tiny bit of it gone, and for that, there really was nothing better than a cleanup crew that could see the tiniest contamination and make it go away.</p><p class="western">And then, after they had done that, Ash could really get to work. He turned back, surveying the literal jungle his living room had become. Aside from the palm tree that Remington had run into, he had brought home the classics: a small pilea because he was not going to pay full price for a grown one when a small cutting would produce a full plant in less than a year; a huge monstera plant which he had gotten for cheap because it was drooping and her lowest leaves had gone yellow (easy enough to resolve by taking it out of that swamp it had going on in its pot and getting it back into some good, dry soil), some ferns, a pothos, some small succulents to brighten up his bookcases, a venus flytrap just because the idea of a werewolf owning a carnivorous plant made him laugh and, because he had felt ambitious, a calathea, which he already sort of regretted.</p><p class="western">It wasn’t anywhere near his beloved and varied collection that Nick had taken from him. But it was something. A new start, of sorts.</p><p class="western">And those were just the indoor plants. He had another standing order at the gardening center for shrubbery and small trees, but those would have to wait until the gnomes were done and he had gotten around to making sure the soil was decent enough so that he wouldn’t kill them instantly.</p><p class="western">Ash smiled and closed the door. Dusk was already setting in and he turned around and reached for the light switch when he stopped because someone was screaming at him.</p><p class="western">
  <em>HELP</em>
</p><p class="western">It was loud and it was everywhere. Ash flinched, clapped his hands to his ears before he realized the sound hadn’t come from the outside.</p><p class="western">
  <em>HELP</em>
</p><p class="western">Someone was screaming <em>inside </em>his head. Someone desperate. And someone who sounded an awful lot like Remington.</p><p class="western">Ash’ heart beat in his throat, his breath coming in short gasps as he tried to grapple with whatever the hell was going on.</p><p class="western">
  <em>HELP. HELP. HELP.</em>
</p><p class="western">He had last seen Remington when he went outside after that awkward collision in the hallway. He didn’t know if the witch had come back but if he had, and he was in trouble somewhere inside Willow’s Close, Ash assumed there were other ways to get people’s attention than to hijack their heads.</p><p class="western">There was a rapping at the door. ‘Mr. Leigh? Mr. Leigh!’</p><p class="western">Ashford straightened up, the screaming for help still ringing in his head, and opened the door. One of the Donners was staring at him, wide-eyed and fangs fully grown. ‘Mr. Leigh! Mr. Moore! He’s… he needs help!’</p><p class="western">For a moment, the screaming stopped. Which was even more terrifying. ‘You heard him too?’ Ash asked and the vampire nodded. ‘Vampires, werewolves, witches. All linked. Selkies, ghosts, dragons. Not linked. Mr. Moore needs help!’</p><p class="western">That, Ash was sure of. And if Remington wasn’t at Willow’s Close, there was only one other place he could be. Ash didn’t even think; he grabbed his coat and keys and ran down the hallway, the vampire hot on his heels.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">The drive to the new house had taken thirty minutes that first time. It took a little over fifteen minutes now. Ash didn’t care how many speeding tickets he had collected on the way; he only cared that Remington had been quiet from the moment he ran out of Willow’s Close. The raw despair in his voice still rang in Ash’ mind and he slammed the gas again, turning the final corner almost on two wheels. The vampire sitting next to him in the passenger seat said nothing. He just stared ahead with an urgency that Ash felt all too keenly.</p><p class="western">When the house finally came into view, Ash wasted no time. He flung the van into the driveway and jumped out the door. His clothes were already straining at the seams and the wave of hot tea and iron that hit him the moment he stepped out were the final straw. The shift was starting and Ash didn’t stop it.</p><p class="western">Cloth teared and within seconds, the world had shifted to a gloriously and ever-changing landscape of scent. Iron and tea, green earth and the weirdly sour smell of vampire, cold asphalt, exhaust fumes from his van, it all painted a much clearer picture than the wolf’s eyes ever could.</p><p class="western">He sniffed. Once, twice. Iron and tea were everywhere. There was a lot of power here, or there had been recently. The wolf didn’t think or feel the way Ashford did, but if he had, he would feel uneasy. As it was, he followed his nose and started moving with purpose in the direction of the front door.</p><p class="western">‘Can’t open that,’ the vampire said behind him. ‘No key.’</p><p class="western">The wolf looked up and saw he was right. He growled. Sniffed again. Turned and trotted away, rounded the corner of the house and broke into a canter. The vampire ran after him. At the back of the house was the door to the utility room.</p><p class="western">‘Locked,’ the vampire said. ‘Want me to…?’</p><p class="western">But the wolf did not listen. He had finally picked up the source of the scent. He turned back. Ran fast as he could halfway down the grass. Then turned around and, running even faster than before, raced towards the house.</p><p class="western">The window was a single pane of glass. It never stood a chance against a 200 pound werewolf galloping towards it at top speed. Glass splintered around him as the wolf landed on the hardwood floor with a heavy <em>thunk. </em>The room was sweltering and the scent of tea and iron was so strong that he almost gagged. Then he looked up and saw the witch, lying on the floor in a crumpled heap. Perfectly still.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Remington came too and immediately wished he hadn’t. His head felt like it was about to split right in two and his stomach was trying to fight its way up and out of his chest. He groaned, unable even to open his eyes.</p><p class="western">‘Oh good,’ came a voice to the side. ‘You alive. You can stop licking now, Mr. Leigh. He is coming back.’</p><p class="western">Remington groaned again. There was something wet against his cheek, and a sniffing noise in his ear. That was enough to pull a number of levers in his brain, from the one labeled <em>wake up now </em>to the very big one labeled <em>time to panic. </em>He opened his eyes and shot up, the pain in his head flaring bright and sharp like a white-hot knife. ‘<em>NO.’</em></p><p class="western">Strong arms held him back. Too weak to fight, Remington held himself stiff as a board. ‘<em>NO.’</em></p><p class="western">‘Is okay, Mr. Moore,’ the voice came again. One of the vampires, Remington realized. Which would explain the extremely strong grip. ‘It’s only Mr. Leigh. Mr. Leigh saved your life.’</p><p class="western">Too much. Darkness crowded back in at the edges of his vision. The vampire shook him and Remington blinked. ‘<em>No, </em>Mr. Moore. You stay awake. Mr. Leigh, shift back please?’</p><p class="western">There was a horrible tearing sound that Remington knew all too well. He looked away. Then another voice, rough and low. ‘Mr. Donner. Can you stay with him? I will be right back.’</p><p class="western">No clothes, Remington thought, suddenly feeling giddy. The werewolf would be <em>naked. </em>He tried to look up, but the werewolf had already vanished around the corner of the house. Remington tried not to think about Ashford, walking naked down the street in this quiet little town. He giggled.</p><p class="western">‘Is okay, Mr. Moore,’ the vampire said again. His grip had loosened a little. Remington’s head still hurt so he closed his eyes again, swallowing back against his churning stomach. ‘Mr. Leigh found you. Took you outside. What happened?’</p><p class="western">Remington had no idea. He shook his head. Any attempt at talking now, and he was sure he’d puke his guts out.</p><p class="western">‘Maybe Mr. Leigh knows,’ the vampire said cheerfully. A bit too cheerfully for the occasion, Remington thought. ‘He knows about houses, doesn’t he. Ah. There he is. Hello, Mr. Leigh.’</p><p class="western">Indeed, the werewolf appeared around the corner again. His clothes were torn, and he was carrying a toolbox. ‘Mr. Donner… what is your first name?’</p><p class="western">‘Patrick,’ the vampire said cheerfully. ‘At your service, Mr. Leigh. Owe you a debt, we do. Can’t do without a witch now, can we.’</p><p class="western">The werewolf didn’t seem to hear this. Instead he started rooting through his toolbox. ‘Patrick. Could you go inside the house and turn off that gas heater? Then take this…’ he held out a small orange box. ‘And press this button. Stay inside for a bit until you see a number appear, it might take a minute or so. Then come back and tell me what the highest number was.’</p><p class="western">The vampire, Patrick, nodded. ‘Got it, Mr. Leigh.’</p><p class="western">Remington slumped back to the grass when the vampire let go. There was a splintering of glass as Patrick made his way through the only entrance to the house that was currently available.</p><p class="western">Silence fell. Then, voice rasping in the back of his throat like he was talking though gravel, Remington asked: ‘What the hell just happened.’</p><p class="western">‘Ah.’ There was a soft noise and a presence near Remington’s head told him the werewolf had taken up position next to him. ‘I’m sorry. This is my fault. You… you turned the heater on, didn’t you?’</p><p class="western">Remington’s head hurt too much to nod. ‘Yes.’</p><p class="western">More silence. Then again: ‘I’m sorry.’ Another shifting noise. ‘See, the dangerous thing… the dangerous thing about gas heaters. They don’t just go boom. There’s also carbon monoxide. I’m… fuck, Remington. I’m sorry. I should have realized, I should have told you. Should have told you not to turn the damn thing on without having a meter around. I’m so sorry.’</p><p class="western">Carbon monoxide. Remington had heard of that, but had never paid much attention. It sounded bad. His stomach finally settled a little and he risked breathing in a little more deeply. ‘How bad?’ he asked.</p><p class="western">‘Not sure,’ Ashford said. ‘That’s what…’</p><p class="western">‘Here we are, Mr. Leigh,’ the voice of Patrick said. ‘It says only 400 now, but inside, it said well over 600.’</p><p class="western">Ashford sighed. ‘Yeah. Shit. That’s what I was afraid of.’</p><p class="western">‘Bad,’ Remington offered.</p><p class="western">‘Very bad,’ Ashford said. His voice was shaking, Remington noticed a bit distantly. That probably meant it was <em>really </em>bad. ‘Remington, I’m sorry. We’re going to take you to the hospital.’</p><p class="western">That brought Remington back faster than a bucket of cold water might have done. He shot up again, ignoring the searing pain in his head this time. ‘<em>NO.’</em></p><p class="western">‘I’m sorry,’ Ashford repeated. He sounded genuinely upset. ‘We have to. We don’t know how long you’ve been in there but you were unconscious and… We just need to make sure you’re okay.’</p><p class="western">‘He is right, Mr. Moore,’ Patrick said. Some of the cheer had gone out of his voice. ‘You do look bad. And the air inside was very bad too. I could feel it.’</p><p class="western">Remington tried to resist, but he was weak as a newborn kitten. He had no energy left, no voice left to tell them why going to the hospital would make him feel even worse. ‘No,’ he whispered as strong arms closed around him to keep him down. ‘No. No, I can’t. Can’t go. Please.’</p><p class="western">Whoever was holding him down, they didn’t budge. ‘I know,’ the werewolf said, suddenly very close. Remington tried to focus through the haze of panic. ‘Remington. I know, I mean… I think I know. And I know it’s going to hurt.’</p><p class="western">Remington wanted to laugh at the sheer understatement before the werewolf’s words landed. ‘What do you mean, you know?’</p><p class="western">‘Your magic,’ the werewolf said, unaware of the ice cold spike of fear that shot down Remington’s spine. ‘It’s about buildings. Isn’t it? And a hospital, that’s. That’s a big building. With lots of things happening. Good things and bad things and other things and if you notice all of that…’ He paused. ‘It’s going to be a lot, isn’t it?’</p><p class="western">Remington could have cried. He wasn’t so sure he didn’t. ‘Yeah.’</p><p class="western">‘So, I know,’ Ashford went on, still ignoring the sheer turmoil happening inside the witch in his arms. ‘And I’m sorry. But you need oxygen, and you need lots of it. So, hospital it is.’</p><p class="western">He shifted and pulled Remington upright, ready to carry him away. Remington tried to struggle again, without avail, until he heard Patrick say: ‘Wait.’</p><p class="western">The werewolf sat back down. Remington pressed his face to the grass and tried not to vomit.</p><p class="western">‘We could call an ambulance first,’ Patrick suggested. If any of his muscles were cooperating right now, Remington would have gotten up and kissed him. ‘Maybe… I mean. He looks bad, but he already looks better than before. Maybe they have, like. Oxygen in the ambulance? And then they won’t have to take him to the hospital. In fact,’ he said a bit more cheerfully, ‘I think I wouldn’t mind if we could avoid that either. And I think the same goes for you, Mr. Leigh.’</p><p class="western">Silence. Then the werewolf’s voice slowly said: ‘Remington?’</p><p class="western">Remington groaned.</p><p class="western">‘Remington, I’m going to ask you a question. If you can give a semi-coherent answer, we will call the ambulance. If not, we’re taking you straight to the hospital. Deal?’</p><p class="western">That sounded fair. ‘Deal,’ Remington managed.</p><p class="western">‘Alright.’ Silence fell again and then: ‘Why did you name your cat Lady Jane? Because I get that it’s a girl cat, but she’s not…. Well, she’s not very ladylike, is she?’</p><p class="western">Of all the fucking questions the werewolf could have asked. ‘Of all the fucking questions you could ask,’ Remington groaned, half annoyed and half relieved it wasn’t something more personal. Like asking after <em>his </em>name. ‘No, she’s not. There was this book.’</p><p class="western">‘A book,’ the werewolf repeated. ‘Go on,’ Patrick said encouragingly.</p><p class="western">‘Yeah, a book.’ Remington turned, so that he was facing upward. It was fully dark now and out here, he could see the sky was studded with stars. ‘About a boy named Remington and a young lady named Jane and they… they did adventures. It was a really good book.’</p><p class="western">‘I see.’ He could tell Ashford was trying not to laugh. ‘How old were you? When you read that book, I mean?’</p><p class="western">‘Ten,’ Remington muttered. ‘I think.’</p><p class="western">Now the werewolf did laugh. Remington glared. His head was still pounding, but it already felt better than it had done when he’d just woken up, which he took as a good sign. ‘Hey. It’s a good name. At least it’s better than Mittens, or Spot. No offense to any cat named Mittens or Spot out there, but…’</p><p class="western">‘Alright, alright.’ Ashford pushed him down again, gently this time. ‘Fair enough. I got you, don’t worry. And it is a good name. OK. Patrick?</p><p class="western">‘Yes, Mr. Leigh?’</p><p class="western">‘Ambulance it is.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Even if he still had some doubts about calling and waiting for an ambulance instead of taking the witch, loading him into his van and flying to the hospital, from the way Remington’s entire body slumped with relief after he said the word ‘ambulance’, Ash realized he had made the right call.</p><p class="western">‘Hey,’ he said gently, placing one hand on the witch’ shoulder and rolling him over. ‘You still with us? You know, if you pass out…’</p><p class="western">‘I’m here,’ Remington croaked. The faint glow of the streetlights reflected in what were, Ash realized with a jolt, tear tracks slowly making their way down his cheeks. ‘Not passing out.’</p><p class="western">Yeah. Perhaps telling a witch who was sensitive to buildings that he had to go to a hospital, had not been a great idea. Ash thought for a moment, trying to ignore the way his heart squeezed tight. ‘Good,’ he managed. ‘Patrick is calling the ambulance and he’ll wait for them out front.’ He nodded at the vampire, who took the hint and left quickly. ‘Now, do you think you can sit up again if I help you?’</p><p class="western">Remington gave a curt nod. It took some jostling, but after a minute, they were both seated against the wall of the house, with Ash’ bulk going a long way to keep the witch upright. They sat in silence for a while, until Remington started shivering and pretended not to.</p><p class="western">‘You cold?’ Ash asked.</p><p class="western">‘No.’</p><p class="western">Ash sighed. ‘Alright. Wait here. Don’t go turning on any gas heaters while I’m gone.’</p><p class="western">‘Har har,’ Remington replied sourly, but Ash had already gotten up and jogged towards his van. Patrick looked back at him, curious, but he waved to indicate no one had died yet and opened the door to retrieve his work jacket. It wasn’t pretty, but it was heavy and it would do more to keep Remington warm than just his sweater.</p><p class="western">Of course, it would also make Remington smell just a bit more like him. The wolf inside Ash would be lying if he said he didn’t like that thought.</p><p class="western">Of course, the witch, rapidly approaching his usual, surly self again, balked when he saw Ash returning. ‘I’m <em>fine.’</em></p><p class="western">‘Sure,’ Ash said, sitting down again. ‘You’re shivering and I just dragged you out of a house unconscious and full of poisonous gas, but yeah. You’re absolutely fine. We’re just waiting on the big yellow nee-naw car because it’s your birthday and you get to ride in it because you’re a special boy.’</p><p class="western">That shut the witch right up. Ash sat back down, already regretting his outburst. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I’m just… you scared us.’</p><p class="western">‘It’s not your fault,’ Remington said just as meekly. ‘I should’ve asked. About the heater.’</p><p class="western">Ash sighed again. ‘Yeah. Maybe.’ He held up the coat. Remington nodded and sat forward so Ash could drape it over his shoulders. It looked comically big on him but he couldn’t hide the sigh of relief when he sat back against the wall, at least, not from the sharp ears of a werewolf.</p><p class="western">‘Can I ask you another question?’ he asked, after a moment’s deliberation. ‘Just… I mean, we could wait here in silence, or we could make sure that you don’t pass out again.’</p><p class="western">‘Sure.’ Remington pulled the coat a little tighter around him. ‘Fire away.’</p><p class="western">‘Were you…’ Ash paused. ‘Were you talking to the house again? Before the lights went out, I mean?’</p><p class="western">Remington swallowed, then nodded. ‘Yeah.’ He swallowed again. ‘I think… I think it tried to warn me.’</p><p class="western">As Remington told him what had happened, in more detail than Ash had thought he would get, he couldn’t help that curious curling in his gut again. To be fair, he had never heard of a witch who could talk to buildings, or see into their past. But just because he had never heard of it, didn’t mean it wasn’t impressive.</p><p class="western">‘And that’s when I blacked out,’ Remington finished. ‘Right as she told me to get out of the house. So, I really think... It knew something was wrong and it tried to warn me.’</p><p class="western">‘It likes you,’ Ash said. Remington looked up in surprise. ‘And I mean, if I was this house? I would too.’</p><p class="western">Now Remington frowned. ‘What?’</p><p class="western">From far away, Ash could already hear the sirens approaching. He smiled and looked back at the broken window, a gaping dark hole in the whitewashed wall. ‘You come in here, in a house that hasn’t been lived in for years. And instead of just, throwing everything out, ripping up the floorboards, breaking down the walls… I mean, I’m in construction. I know what happens to houses like this. People buy them and then say they’re too small, or the rooms are impractical. So they knock the walls down to create more room, they rip out the kitchen and bathroom because they aren’t modern enough, hardwood floors are too much work so instead they replace them with lookalike PVC and then to finish it off, they paint the walls duck egg blue or early dew green or something like that. And here you come in, and the first thing you do is look through the stuff and see what’s worth keeping, and you’re asking how it’s been and what happened to the people that were here before and you even said <em>sorry for intruding</em>. Remington,’ he said, grinning at the sheer disbelief on the witch’s face, now illuminated with flashes of blue as the ambulance wailed up to the driveway, ‘this house is going to <em>love </em>you.’</p><p class="western">
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Whatever Remington had been expecting Ash to say, it clearly wasn’t that. He was unusually docile when the paramedics pestered him with questions, probed him with needles and at last, placed an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose and instructed him to stay put like that for at least half an hour. Hearing that, Ash sent Patrick the vampire back to Willow’s Close in Remington’s car to inform the others before anybody panicked. About half an hour later, around the time Patrick would have arrived at Willow’s Close, Ash’ phone buzzed.</p><p class="western">‘<em>What do you mean he got poisoned.’</em></p><p class="western">Ash groaned. Behind his oxygen mask, Remington made a face. ‘Hello Ms. Nell. Don’t worry, he’s fine.’</p><p class="western">‘<em>Ashford Leigh, you tell me what happened to my witch right now.’</em></p><p class="western">Apparently Ms. Nell needed a little more reassurance than ‘don’t worry, he’s fine’. Ash sighed and looked at Remington who, between the wall, Ash’ gargantuan jacket and Ash himself, actually looked pretty comfortable. ‘He’s fine, Ms. Nell. Promise. Just had a little mishap with a gas heater and some carbon monoxide, but he will be OK.’</p><p class="western">Nell wasn’t satisfied. ‘<em>Carbon monoxide?’</em></p><p class="western">It took a while for Ash to explain and then it took even longer to calm her down enough to be able to ring off without getting the sense that he would be evicted the moment he delivered the witch back to Willow’s Close. Meanwhile, the paramedics had stripped Remington of his oxygen mask, poked and prodded him some more and finally declared him good to go.</p><p class="western">‘Seems your friend got you out well in time,’ one of them, a short, stocky woman with spiky blond hair said with a serious face. ‘Lot of people aren’t that lucky.’</p><p class="western">Which, after the phone call with Ms. Nell, was more than enough to make Ash feel like complete and utter shit.</p><p class="western">He stood up and reached down to help Remington up. Behind them, the ambulance was crunching its way down the driveway and back towards the road, eerily quiet without its sirens. Remington, still a little woozy, lurched upwards and right into Ash’ chest. ‘Oomph.’</p><p class="western">‘Sorry,’ Ash muttered, stepping back. ‘Didn’t mean to…’</p><p class="western">But Remington paused. He was swaying on his feet a little but his eyes were as sharp as ever as he looked at Ash. ‘Are you OK?’</p><p class="western">Ash shrugged. ‘Sure. Let’s… let’s get you home, OK?’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded, not saying anything. He didn’t even protest when Ash steered him by the shoulder to the van and bundled him physically inside. He just sat, hunched in Ash’ too-big coat and staring out the window as they drove back to Willow’s Close, at a slightly more sedate pace than before. Only when they reached the city, Remington seemed to shake himself awake. ‘How did you know?’ he asked, voice hoarse and loud in the quiet of the van. ‘I don’t remember… did I call you?’</p><p class="western">‘Sort of,’ Ash said slowly after a moment of silence. ‘I just heard you screaming. Inside my head. Scared the shit out of me. Patrick and the rest of the Donners too. He said…’ He paused again, taking the turn to the road that would lead them to Willow’s Close. ‘He said something about <em>witches and werewolves and vampires, all linked. </em>Don’t really know what he meant, but… Oh.’ He stopped and looked at Remington, who suddenly looked even more closed-off than before. ‘Pack,’ Ash said, trying and failing to keep the surprise out of his voice. ‘You called your pack. Only not your… your birth pack, but the people in Ms. Nell’s house because they are your pack now, aren’t they? Like Ms. Nell and Orla and Beau and Pearl, they’re your family. And since I’m the only werewolf… I’m the only one that heard you, aside from the vampires.’</p><p class="western">‘You really do not have a filter, do you,’ Remington groaned. ‘Yeah. Fuck.’</p><p class="western">He dragged a hand over his face and sighed. ‘You know. Just when I thought I was finally done with the werewolf bullshit.’</p><p class="western">‘Hey,’ Ash said, not in the least offended. ‘Not <em>all</em> werewolves, mind you.’</p><p class="western">Remington glared. ‘Fuck you.’</p><p class="western">‘Say: thank you for saving my life, Ashford.’</p><p class="western">‘I did that already.’</p><p class="western">‘No,’ Ashford glanced aside. Remington looked mulish. ‘I don’t think you did.’</p><p class="western">Mule gave way to sheep. ‘Oh.’ And then, even softer: ‘Thank you.’</p><p class="western">‘Don’t worry about it.’ Ash parked the van across the street from Willow’s Close. ‘Alright. Let’s get you inside and into bed.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Unfortunately for Remington, it wasn’t Ashford who took him to bed. Instead it was Nell, who stood waiting for them in the hallway and who dragged him up the stairs and into his flat, all the while alternating between scolding and fussing.</p><p class="western">‘I just don’t understand why you didn’t think before lighting that damn contraption… watch out for the step dear… you could’ve gotten yourself blown up, or killed, because of some old books… right here we are, through the door now… and you are not going back there alone, do you hear me? You take that nice werewolf with you next time you have to go be one with your house or whatever it is that you do… alright dear, and into bed with you. I’ll get you some water and Beau will check on you a couple of times so don’t worry when your room gets a little chilly, that’s just him.’</p><p class="western">‘Right here, Mr. Moore,’ said a cheerful voice from beneath Remington’s feet, right before the head of Beau drifted upwards through the floorboards. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be quiet.’</p><p class="western">All in all, Remington was heartily relieved when everybody buggered off and he was left alone. He switched off the nightlight and turned over so he faced the wall. And although he felt completely exhausted, it took him a long while before he was able to sleep and it wasn’t just the residual adrenalin that kept him awake.</p><p class="western">Because apparently he had created a new pack for himself, without even noticing. And apparently, that pack now included Ashford Leigh.</p><p class="western">The first part? Fine. Great, even. Remington would be the first to admit that he wasn’t the most sociable of people, but he liked the people of Willow’s Close. Cared for them, even. And he suspected they cared for him too, which was fine. Probably.</p><p class="western">The second part, he was not so sure about.</p><p class="western">Although he probably should have thanked Ashford a little sooner. And now that he thought about it, he realized while staring miserably into the gloom, he <em>had </em>been unfair to the werewolf. And that ‘not <em>all </em>werewolves’ might have been a joke, but on the other hand.</p><p class="western">On the other hand.</p><p class="western">He turned over again. The door to his living room inched open and a heavy dipping of the mattress told him that Lady Jane was coming to keep him company again. It didn’t take long before she had settled in against his back, a warm purring lump that made him smile despite feeling like shit for multiple reasons.</p><p class="western">He pulled the covers up a little higher and closed his eyes. He would settle things with Ashford in the morning.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Unfortunately, with the next morning came a blistering migraine. Which wasn’t a surprise. He had gone deeper than he had in years and this was his body’s way of complaining. But just because it might have been expected, didn’t mean that Remington had been looking forward to feeling like the gnomes had found a bunch of hammers and were taking turns in pounding him over the head with it. Or to the vice that seemed to be clamped around his head, winding tighter and tighter until he had to muffle his sobs into his pillow.</p><p class="western">He didn’t notice much for the rest of the day. It was possible that Beau had warned somebody, because he could have sworn he heard Nell around him, fussing and scolding again. But other than that, it was mostly excruciating pain, darkness and every once in a while, some blissful, blissful sleep.</p><p class="western">He woke up the next day feeling marginally better. His head was still pounding with every move he made, but at least he could move without fearing that it might fall off. Which, at a certain point yesterday, would actually have been welcome.</p><p class="western">After he had dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, he already felt a bit more human. His tattoos were absolutely out of control, but he sighed and decided to deal with it later. It wasn’t like was going anywhere today and if he walked around Willow’s Close with a bird pecking at his temple, well. It wasn’t anything the others hadn’t seen before.</p><p class="western">Upon making his way into the kitchen, he saw that someone had left him breakfast. There was a bowl of yoghurt standing on the counter, next to a cup of granola and his kettle had been filled up, ready to go. Whoever had done that, had even filled Lady Jane’s kibble, which answered the question why she hadn’t been yowling her head off after not being fed for two days straight.</p><p class="western">Yeah. Remington really needed to make things right with the werewolf.</p><p class="western">He waited until after breakfast. Which he spend standing at the window and looking out at the street. It was well into the morning and most commuters had already passed through. But Ashford’s van still stood parked at the side of the road, which meant he was probably at home. With extreme reluctance, Remington pulled out his phone. Because it had been about four weeks… ah. No. The full moon was still a couple of days away.</p><p class="western">He put his phone back. Tried not to think about how he’d once known by heart what phase of the moon it was on any given day, and drained the last of his tea. Then, after a moment’s deliberation, went back into his bathroom, popped two ibuprofen just to help with the lingering headache and went down to say sorry to a werewolf.</p><p class="western">He was almost out the door before he changed his mind. He turned around and went for the bookcases, rooting around a shelf before he found what he was looking for. It would be a while before his eyes could handle looking at a screen again for longer than a minute, so in the meantime, paper patterns would have to do. Tucking the folder securely under his arm, he noticed something else and swore.</p><p class="western">Before he went down to Ashford’s, it seemed he first had to track down the gnomes to inquire about his missing stitch markers.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Tracking down the gnomes, however, proved more difficult than usual. Normally, Remington would thump one of the walls or floorboards and wait a minute for a small head to pop out of the nearest available gap. ‘You rang?’ was usually the sarcastic response, after which Remington would demand back the thing they took or, if demanding wasn’t going to work, try to strike up a deal. He had become rather good at making deals like ‘two stitch markers for three inches of variegated cotton yarn’ or ‘two teaspoons for my embroidery scissors’.</p><p class="western">But this time, he thumped and thumped and there was no response. So after one last glare from Lady Jane, who had been napping on the sofa and did not appreciate being thumped awake like that, Remington headed down to the basement where the gnomes had set up their permanent base camp.</p><p class="western">It was empty. Remington stood at the foot of the stairs, looking out over a veritable jungle of tiny huts and houses and even what looked like some tiny villas here and there. It looked like a proper miniature village, with roads and alleyways running in between the buildings, a larger tiny building that looked like a school for the gnomelings, an empty space covered in what Remington realized was cat fur that apparently served as some kind of park or relax area. It looked a lot like any other human village would when seen from above.</p><p class="western">And it was largely empty. There were a couple of gnomes running around, but no one took much notice of him and Remington got the distinct impression that he was an intruder here and he should leave. So he did.</p><p class="western">Back up the stairs again, he tried his last resort. ‘Beau?’ he called, and waited.</p><p class="western">Not ten seconds later, a pale figure drifted down the stairs. ‘Ah, Mr. Moore. Good to see you’re up and about again. You had us all worried for a bit.’</p><p class="western"><em>Pack, </em>the werewolf’s voice said in Remington’s head. <em>They’re your pack now. </em></p><p class="western">He ignored that, for now. ‘Hey, Beau. Yeah. Sorry about that.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Moore.’ The gost grinned. ‘There’s been rather a lot of that around lately, and I for one, am sick of it. Now. What can I do for you?’</p><p class="western">‘I’m looking for the gnomes,’ Remington said. ‘I, ah. I seem to have left some things lying around that shouldn’t have been lying around and I kind of need them back.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh the gnomes!’ Beau grinned even wider. ‘Of course. They’re all at Mr. Leigh’s, I believe. He’s set them to work on his backyard. Marvellous stuff, they’ve been talking about nothing else for two days straight.’</p><p class="western">Remington blinked. ‘He’s set them to <em>what now?’</em></p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Beau was right. Remington stood in the doorway to Ashford’s backyard, staring slack-jawed at the scene before him. The last time he had seen it, which was about a week ago, it had been a miserable grey landscape of dirt and debris, barely worthy of the term <em>backyard. </em>Today, it was still grey, but it was <em>clean. </em>The cracked stones were all but sparkling. What few clumps of grass had managed to survive where standing up straight, as if someone had brushed them upwards in the right direction. All the debris was gone.</p><p class="western">And it was also swarming with gnomes. Remington wasn’t sure he had ever seen so many gnomes together before and it was an impressive sight. It reminded him a little of an ant colony, in which each and every worker had its own task in the grand plan and carried it out with speed and determination.</p><p class="western">‘But why?’ he asked Ashford, who stood next to him and watched the flurry of activity with a wide smile. ‘I mean. It’s clever, I’ll give you that, but I thought you might want to do this yourself.’</p><p class="western">Ashford shrugged. ‘I like gardening. But cleaning up isn’t exactly gardening, is it? Besides, they’ll do it quick, cheap and after this, they probably won’t ever take anything else from me for a year or so. I thought it was a good deal.’</p><p class="western">Remington had to acknowledge the truth in that statement. Then he frowned as a thought hit him. ‘Do you think…’</p><p class="western">‘… they’ll clean up an entire house for you if you let them have everything they find along the way?’ Ashford grinned. ‘Say, a small and rather old-fashioned house about half an hour’s drive from here?’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded, looking back towards the backyard. One of the gnomes had found what looked like a children’s shoe and was running around excitedly, holding it over its head like a football cup. ‘Like you said. I don’t mind sorting through old stuff or, or redecorating. But…’</p><p class="western">‘Cleaning is just boring,’ Ashford finished. ‘Yeah.’ He suddenly looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Uhm. About the house.’</p><p class="western">Remington raised an eyebrow and followed Ashford back into the room. It had become a bit of a jungle, he thought, with greenery he did not know the name of popping up in unexpected places. There was even a plant hanging from the wall, which looked kind of cool. ‘What about the house? If it’s about the gas thing…’</p><p class="western">‘No,’ Ashford said quickly. He sat down at the table and moved a potted plant that looked like it was made entirely out of sharp spikes out of the way so he could still see Remington. ‘Although I’ll send you some places where you can get an electrical heater. Your wiring should be able to handle that if you don’t use any other power. But actually…’</p><p class="western">Remington sat down. ‘Actually?’</p><p class="western">Ashford shifted in his seat a little, which intrigued and amused Remington to no end. The werewolf was usually the epitome of being straightforward, and right now, he looked like a naughty puppy. ‘Ashford. What did you do?’</p><p class="western">‘OK.’ Ashford smiled a little sheepishly. ‘So. I went back to your house yesterday to board up that window.’</p><p class="western">Remington hadn’t even thought of that. ‘Oh. Thanks.’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah, don’t worry,’ Ashford said. ‘You know. Being the one that smashed it, it seemed only fair.’ Remington conceded that with a nod. ‘But while I was there, I had an idea. One that might be slightly, you know. Safer than doing magic on your own with no one to check if the house isn’t burning down around you.’</p><p class="western">Now Remington thought he understood the caginess. He sat back in his chair and stared at Ashford. ‘Really.’</p><p class="western">Ashford nodded, still looking unsure, and Remington remembered he was actually here because he wanted to be nice to the werewolf from now on. He breathed out and tried a smile. ‘Alright. What’s the idea?’</p><p class="western">‘Well…’ Ashford paused, then visibly decided to bite the bullet. ‘I was at the house and I noticed there was a house a little ways off across the street. So I thought, why not, and I went over and rang the bell to see if they knew anything about your house and the people that used to live there. The lady was very nice,’ he said with a pleading look at Remington, who just looked at him flabbergasted. ‘She said she didn’t really know them that well, they went to a different church or something, you know. Small town stuff. But she gave me their names and…’</p><p class="western">He breathed in. Remington had the distinct feeling that they were only now approaching the height of Ashford’s story and instead of feeling affronted, as he thought he would, he had to admit he felt. Touched. In a way. ‘And?’ he asked.</p><p class="western">‘And I went to Orla.’</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Remington stared. ‘You went to Orla.’</p><p class="western">Ashford nodded. ‘Yeah.’</p><p class="western">‘Did you tell her…’</p><p class="western">‘I didn’t tell her anything,’ Ashford said quickly. ‘At least… not about that. Just about the house, which everybody already knows about and that you wanted to find out who lived there, because there’s nothing in the paperwork that lawyer gave you. So she went to look online yesterday morning, while you were busy dying, and she came over last night to say, uhm. She’d found something.’</p><p class="western">Ashford no longer looked sheepish. Instead he grinned at Remington like someone about to pull up an amazing surprise. Remington’s heart started beating faster. He swallowed, because his throat suddenly felt dry. ‘What… what’d she find?’</p><p class="western">Instead of replying, Ashford handed him a piece of paper that looked like it was torn out of a notebook. ‘She found where the lady went. Her husband passed away around five years ago.’</p><p class="western"><em>Or about when the house was put up for sale, </em>Remington thought but did not say. He was too busy staring at the paper.</p><p class="western">‘And apparently the lady got moved into a retirement home after that. The house was sold by a realtor, and I don’t think she knows what happened to it. I thought…’ Ashford paused and then said quickly: ‘I thought you might like to meet her.’</p><p class="western">Silence. Remington, eyes still glued to the paper, said nothing as he tried to make sense of what the werewolf was doing. Had done.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Mrs. Mary Mortimer-Mayhew. Retirement Home ‘Yellow Woods’, Langley. Room 406. Ring before visiting.</em>
</p><p class="western">In the background, high-pitched voices indicated that some new kind of treasure had been uncovered. They were all but drowned out by the roaring in Remington’s ears and he only shook out of his stupor when Ashford cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking dejected. ‘If you don’t want to, or if I… if I overstepped, I’m sorry. Just, don’t yell at me. I can do your inspection for free instead if you still want me to, or, or I can draw you up a new heating plan that’d be safer than gas, or, just tell me what you need. I’ll get it for you. I just thought, I just thought you’d want to meet this lady but if you don’t....’</p><p class="western">‘I do,’ Remington said hoarsely. He coughed. ‘Uhm. Thank you. Honestly.’ Then he frowned as he realized what Ashford had just said. ‘Why would I yell at you?’</p><p class="western">Ashford shrugged. ‘People do sometimes. I, ah. Don’t always think things through, apparently. When it comes to… surprises like this.’</p><p class="western">He still looked a little dejected. Remington paused. ‘Would that ‘people’ be that ex-boyfriend of yours… You know what, nevermind. None of my business.’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah.’ Ashford smiled a little, which was a much better look on him than that of a kicked puppy. ‘It was. And it’s OK. I mean, it wasn’t OK, obviously, but. You know.’</p><p class="western">‘Sure.’ Remington didn’t know, and didn’t want to ask either. He looked back at the piece of paper. ‘But really. Thank you. This is… I mean, you didn’t have to.’ He looked up at Ashford again. ‘You know that, right? I told you. Not telling me that the gas heater might leak carbon monoxide was not your fault.’</p><p class="western">Ashford made a face. ‘Yeah. I know. But still. Felt pretty bad about it.’</p><p class="western">‘And even if it was,’ Remington went on, ‘you already more than made up for it by getting me out of there in time. And by going back and boarding up the window.’ He tapped the table, thinking for a moment. Then he smiled. ‘So. What do you say about going to see this lady together?’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">It wasn’t until Remington was back at his flat, after some ten minutes of convincing the werewolf that, yes, he was serious, he wanted Ashford to come with him to visit this old lady in her retirement home, that Remington realized he had completely forgotten about the patterns he had brought with him. They were still lying on Ashford’s kitchen chair.</p><p class="western">Oh well. The werewolf would probably find them soon enough and get the idea. And if not, then Remington would tell him at some point. Right now, his head hurt like the blazes again, so crocheting wasn’t going to happen today anyway. Instead he made his way back upstairs, ignored Lady Jane’s suspicious glare, and went back to bed.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">The gnomes left about an hour after Remington had gone. If backyards could gleam, then Ash’ backyard sure did. He half suspected them of polishing up the tiles before they went, although he decided not to ask. Instead he walked around for a bit, trying to decide his next step. He would have to create some kind of tall fence or hedge to make sure the place did not become a garbage dump again; that would be easy enough. The tricky part was what to do with the rest of the space.</p><p class="western">It wasn’t big enough to run around in. He had tried, that first full moon, but he could clear the entire backyard in one large jump. So instead, he decided to focus on another purpose. Insects and small critters were living a rough life in the city; he could make it a little easier for them. A big lavender border would be a start, and if he put up a tall enough fence, he could plant some honeysuckle or ivy to grow alongside it. Then maybe a small apple tree and some hawthorn on the other side and then make sure to leave a small patch bare where he could try and make some mulch… He grinned. Nick would probably say that that was far too much effort for such a small place and he wasn’t going to stay here forever anyway so what was the point, but Nick wasn’t here. And Ash liked this place. He wanted to make something of it, and leave it behind nicer than he found it.</p><p class="western">With the image of his new paradise firmly in his mind, he went back inside. It had been a nice distraction, looking at and planning his backyard, but it was a distraction nonetheless, and he knew it.</p><p class="western">Remington hadn’t been mad at him. Granted, he’d <em>hoped </em>Remington wouldn’t be mad at him for putting his nose in things it probably did not belong, but he wasn’t sure. Could never be sure. But Remington hadn’t been mad, He’d even been… happy? As usual, it was difficult to tell with the witch, but Ash had the distinct impression he had touched on something there, and Remington had even thanked him multiple times. Something he hadn’t even done after Ashford had saved his life.</p><p class="western">And then he’d asked Ashford to come with him. To the retirement home. To visit Mrs. Mortimer. And he hadn’t backed down, no matter how much Ash told him that it was fine, he didn’t need to ask. Almost as if he wanted Ash to join him.</p><p class="western">Ash wasn’t sure what that meant. But Remington did not want to take no for an answer, so in the end. Ash had had to give in. And it was worth it, if only for the genuine smile on the witch’s face. Something Ash had seen precious little of until now, but also something he wanted to see a lot more of.</p><p class="western">He shook his head. He liked Remington. He did. But going down that road was probably a bad idea. He sat down at his kitchen table, laptop in hand to order a truly impressive amount of plants from the garden center, when his gaze landed on one of the chairs. Or, more precisely, on a stack of papers on one of the chairs. A stack of papers he certainly had not put there.</p><p class="western">He vaguely remembered Remington having some paper with him when he came in and then all but dropping it when he saw the garden gnome taskforce in Ash’ backyard. He had probably forgotten all about it after Ash’ bombshell.</p><p class="western">Ash picked it up, curious. At first, he didn’t realize what he was looking at, but then his eyes widened and he held his breath. Ash had never seen a crochet pattern in his life, but the photos were unmistakable those of Remington’s blankets. His heart started to beat faster as he leafed through the pages, about a dozen of them, each one containing pictures of intricately woven fabric in various shades and color configurations. There were even color schemes listed with some of the patterns, probably to save Remington or his client the headache of trying to come up with them himself.</p><p class="western">Ash wasn’t stupid. He knew he could be a bit slow on the uptake and he ‘didn’t always think things through’ and he forgot important things sometimes, but right now? Right now, he knew what was going on.</p><p class="western">Apparently Ash had not been the only one feeling like he had something to make up for.</p><p class="western">He leafed through the pages again, slower this time. One pattern caught his eye, the same one he’d paused on when he first started looking through them. The stitching or whatever it was that you called it, did not look too difficult to Ash’ untrained eye; at least, they were all the same. Some of the other blankets he had seen, looked like they were made up out of a million different things. This one was almost simple, compared to those. One stitch thing that created a sort of wavy rows, with the color changing every few waves. But the thing that had made him pause, wasn’t the pattern itself, but the colors.</p><p class="western">Red. Yellow. Copper. Half a dozen different shades of green. Blue and grey and silver, all coming together until Ash could almost smell the woods behind his pack’s house and the sky stretching out above it. He closed his eyes, bracing himself against a sudden wave of homesickness. All of a sudden, he wasn’t so sure about Remington’s adamant claims that he did not use magic because if Ash got this feeling from just a picture, then he wasn’t so sure what the actual blanket might do to him.</p><p class="western">But that didn’t mean he did not want to find out. He stared at the picture for another long moment, and then carefully took up the stack of patterns, straightened out the pages and stood up to put it on his side table next to the door. He would give them back to Remington tomorrow, when they came back from the retirement home.</p><p class="western">And then, putting the witch and his mysteries and magic as firmly out of his mind as he could, Ash sat back down and ordered a truly ungodly amount of plants.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">He did not see much of Remington the next day; instead he spent most of it removing the stones from his backyard and getting the soil back into some semblance of order. It was heavy, dirty work and by the end of it, he felt more sore than he had in weeks. Which could also be because it was a few days before the full moon and he was itching to shift. Those ten minutes he’d shifted just to drag Remington out of the house had nowhere near been enough to satisfy the wolf and it was scratching at the surface, begging to be let out again.</p><p class="western">Well, Ash thought as he hit the shower. His wolf would have to wait it out. Because tomorrow morning, he was going with Remington to see Mrs. Mortimer, and it would not do to arrive at a sweet little old lady’s retirement flat smelling of wolf and covered in muck and twigs. She’d probably have a heart attack or something, and then he would have to find something else that Remington would like to make it up to him <em>again</em>. And he probably could not keep doing that, even if he wanted to. Even if it meant that Remington would smile at him like that again and tell him it wasn’t his fault, Ash thought. It was a bad idea. Just another bad idea.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">The next morning he stood waiting in the hallway, still a little unsure. Despite the fact that he and Remington could now be considered friends of some sort, he still did not feel like going up to Ms. Nell’s flat for breakfast. For one, it would lead to questions and odd looks and he wasn’t sure he would like that, and two, it was nice to be able to eat meat in peace. Even if it was just once a day.</p><p class="western">He only had to wait a couple of minutes before the scent of tea and iron came down the stairs, followed immediately by the witch himself. He looked his usual, slightly grumpy self again and Ashford relaxed. Even two days ago, when they were discussing this visit, Remington had looked pale and peaky, breathing carefully and obviously still recovering from his bout of CO poisoning. He looked a lot better now.</p><p class="western">‘You ready?’ he asked when he saw Ashford hovering near the door. ‘I’ll drive. If we can fit you in my car, that is.’</p><p class="western">Ashford shook his head, trying not to laugh. ‘I’ll squeeze in,’ he said before following Remington out the door. Then he laughed again when he noticed the car they were heading for. ‘Oi. I’m not <em>that </em>big, I’ll fit in a Mercedes.’</p><p class="western">Remington declined to comment. But Ash did see the quirk of his mouth, which meant he was secretly amused, and did a little victory dance inside. This morning was off to a good start.</p><p class="western">The drive to the retirement home took around half an hour, as it was located just a little ways away from Remington’s new house. It wasn’t anything special on the outside: just a large box made out of red brick, with wooden benches lining the way from the parking lot to the front door. Ash supposed that was where the residents came to sit outside when the weather was nice. Inside, the building was even more drab: faded red linoleum on the floors, drab wallpaper and the pungent smell of bleach, bad food and even worse personal hygiene.</p><p class="western">His nose twitched and he held back a sneeze. And another. Then someone touched his arm and he looked aside. Remington was looking at him and frowning. ‘Do you need me to…’ he asked, making a wavy motion with his hand.</p><p class="western">It took Ash a second, but then he shook his head, feeling oddly touched. ‘No, thanks. I’ll manage.’ He took a slow breath. ‘And they’d probably notice anyway.’</p><p class="western">Remington conceded the point with a tilt of his head and waited patiently until Ash had himself under control again. Then he led the way to the reception desk, where a tall blond woman who smelled of lemongrass told them that Mrs. Mortimer was expecting them.</p><p class="western">‘She’s very excited,’ she said, looking from Ash to Remington with a smile that made something niggle uneasy in Ash’ gut. ‘She’s been looking forward to meeting you ever since you called. Poor thing, doesn’t get that many visitors. She’s in room 406, you’ll want the fourth floor and then the hallway to the right.’</p><p class="western">‘Thank you,’ Remington said, raising an eyebrow at the reception worker’s wide smile. It seems he was coming to the same conclusion Ash had come to, and he did not exactly like it. He didn’t say anything, however, and instead made a beeline for the lift bay.</p><p class="western">‘Did she think…’ Ash said when Remington had smashed the button. Remington nodded. ‘Yeah. I think she did.’</p><p class="western">‘Hm,’ was all Ash had to say to that. Remington just shook his head, shoulders once again so tense it almost hurt Ash to look at it. Ash nudged him. ‘Hey. Breathe.’</p><p class="western">‘What?’ Remington looked up. There was a <em>ding </em>sound and the lift appeared. The doors slid open and they stepped inside. Remington punched in the button for the fourth floor. ‘I am breathing.’</p><p class="western">‘Sure,’ Ash said, looking in the large mirror at the back of the lift. ‘You also look like you’re going to murder that sweet little old lady we’re about to see.’</p><p class="western">Remington breathed out. Then looked in the mirror himself and Ash could see he tried to forcibly relax. It didn’t help much. It seemed his good mood from before had evaporated the moment that receptionist had assumed they were together. Ash tried not to feel too hurt by that; after all, he did know about the witch’s hang-ups where werewolves were concerned. He should be glad he’d gotten as far as he had. But as they stepped out of the lift and into yet another lifeless hallway, he found himself hoping that Mrs. Mortimer would be the kind of lady that could cheer up even the surliest witch.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">As it turned out, Ash needn’t have worried. The moment they arrived at Room 406 and the door opened to reveal the smallest old lady Ash had ever seen, Remington relaxed. Almost as if by magic and if it hadn’t been for the fact that Ash could not smell any sudden tea or iron, he would have thought that it <em>was </em>magic. Especially when Remington smiled, a little hesitantly, but genuinely nonetheless. ‘Mrs. Mortimer? I’m Remington Moore.’</p><p class="western">Beady eyes narrowed behind heavy glasses. From the room behind her, Ash could smell the potpourri that had been in the old house as well, mixed with the smell of soap and chocolate biscuits. It was a pleasant smell, not as strong and not as pungent as the air out here in the hallway. Mrs. Mortimer, dressed all in blue, with thinning white hair and a face like a crab apple, looked them up and down and then smiled widely. ‘Yes, of course. Mr. Moore, please, come in. And your friend, hello, Mr…’</p><p class="western">‘Ashford,’ Ash said, carefully shaking Mrs. Mortimer’s hand. It almost disappeared in his own and he let go quickly. ‘Ashford Leigh. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Mortimer.’</p><p class="western">‘Please, please call me Mary,’ Mrs. Mortimer said. She turned and led the way through a tiny kitchen towards her room. ‘Mrs. Mortimer is such a mouthful. Now,’ she said as she motioned for Ash and Remington to sit down on a sofa that looked about as old as she was. ‘What can I get you? Tea? Coffee? Something a little stronger? I have whiskey if you…’</p><p class="western">‘Tea would be perfect,’ Remington said quickly. ‘Thank you.’</p><p class="western">Mrs. Mortimer looked at Ash. ‘What about you, Ashford?’</p><p class="western">It had just gone past half-ten. Ashford smiled. ‘I’ll have some tea as well.’</p><p class="western">Mrs. Mortimer nodded and bustled off to the kitchen. A few moments later, Ash heard the roiling of a kettle and the clank of teacups and she appeared again, carrying a tray of steaming cups. Ash jumped up to take it from her, but she shook her head. ‘Oh no, thank you, Ashford. I’m quite alright. Here we go.’ She set the tray down on the coffee table and sat down in a large armchair. ‘Now. I understand you are here about my house?’</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Mrs. Mortimer was not at all what Remington had expected. If he hadn’t seen her so clearly when he went into the house that first time, he would have doubted if they were even talking to the right person. But the crab apple face was the same, if only a bit more wrinkly and smiling more, and when she had opened the door, she had looked at him as if she’d seen him before.</p><p class="western">‘I understand you are here about my house?’ she asked, blowing on her tea. Remington shook himself and took the cup Ashford handed to him. ‘Ah. Yes. The house.’ The tea was Earl Grey, judging by the bergamot that wafted up his nose. He could already see Ashford trying to hold down another sneeze. ‘I was wondering if you…’ He paused, trying to formulate his question without being too direct. ‘I think my grandmother bought it from you, and she recently passed away,’ he said. ‘She left it to me. I don’t think she ever set foot in it, because there are a lot of things inside that might have been yours.’</p><p class="western">Mrs. Mortimer looked puzzled. ‘But I sold the house… let’s see. Bill passed away five years ago come December, and I sold it only a few months afterwards because this room in the home opened up and, well. Too many memories, and not able to clean any of it, so I could not keep the house. No matter how much I might have wanted to.’ She frowned at Remington. ‘Are you saying that everything in there is the same as how I left it all those years ago?’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded. ‘I think so. I, ah. Found a box full of books about birdwatching.’</p><p class="western">‘Ah.’ For a moment, Mrs. Mortimer’s face fell. ‘Yes. That was Bill’s hobby.’</p><p class="western">The room fell silent. Remington sipped his tea and waited.</p><p class="western">‘But I still don’t understand,’ Mrs. Mortimer went on. ‘I assumed… I sold the house to a realtor, so I regret to say that I did not meet your grandmother. But I had thought the new owners would have wanted to move in. Not let it sit untouched for years.’</p><p class="western">‘No, well,’ Remington sighed. ‘That is a very long story. I won’t bore you with the details, but my family… is complicated. And I suspect my grandmother bought your house simultaneously to spite her other relatives and to do me a favor. She… she was that kind of person.’</p><p class="western">He sipped his tea again. Next to him, Ashford shifted as if he was about to say something. Mrs. Mortimer hummed. ‘I see. If you don’t mind, I would like to hear the full story someday.’</p><p class="western">Remington could almost hear the <em>so would I </em>that Ashford wasn’t saying. ‘Someday,’ he said easily. ‘But not now. If you don’t mind.’</p><p class="western">‘Of course.’ Mrs. Mortimer smiled. Remington breathed out. ‘Well then. What do you want to know about my house? I assume you have already gone through my stuff, or else you would not be here.’</p><p class="western">Ashford made a noise that could only be a suppressed snort. Remington rolled his eyes at him and turned back to Mrs. Mortimer. ‘I have. I, ah. Am planning to renovate it. Ashford is helping me, since he actually knows things about buildings.’</p><p class="western">‘I see.’ Mrs. Mortimer turned to Ashford. ‘Are you in construction, Ashford?’</p><p class="western">The werewolf smiled. ‘What gave it away?’</p><p class="western">‘Well, you are very tall,’ Mrs. Mortimer replied and Ashford laughed. ‘I am, yes. And yes. I am in construction. Your house is, ah. Very interesting.’</p><p class="western">‘It’s hopelessly outdated, you mean,’ Mrs. Mortimer said cheerfully. ‘I suspect you are going to make a fortune off of poor Remington here.’</p><p class="western">Ashford laughed again and Remington shook his head. ‘He sure is.’ He smiled and put his teacup back on the coffee table. ‘But that is what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, I am interested in… let’s say, the history, the <em>soul </em>of a house. And you lived there for a very long time, haven’t you?’</p><p class="western">Mrs. Mortimer nodded. ‘We did.’</p><p class="western">‘So what I was wondering,’ Remington said, finally reaching his point. ‘Is if there is anything we could do… well obviously some things have to be changed, or replaced. But I like to keep some things intact. There is something… special, about houses, buildings really, that have been lived in for a long time by the same people. They almost take on a character of their own and I would hate to be the one that comes in and rips out the one thing that made it special to its previous residents. If you understand me.’</p><p class="western">Silence fell again. Remington was acutely aware of Ashford’s presence next to him, and he could almost see the way the werewolf’s ears had perked up. He already braced himself for the questions that were probably definitely going to be asked once they were out of this retirement home, and he wasn’t so sure if he was ready to answer them. No matter the fact that Ashford was, by now, far more aware of Remington’s brand of magic than pretty much anyone else, with perhaps the exception of Nell.</p><p class="western">‘I see.’ Mrs. Mortimer looked thoughtful. ‘Well. There are some things I did regret having to leave behind. I don’t know if you have removed anything yet?’</p><p class="western">‘Only some things,’ Remington said. ‘Some furniture. But we left most of it, for now.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh good.’ Mrs. Mortimer stood up and turned to a writing desk in the corner of the room. ‘Let’s see. This might be easier if you wrote it down…’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">They talked for over an hour. Mrs. Mortimer, fortified by more tea and Remington’s genuine interest, went from merely listing furniture and household items to regaling the both of them with more and more stories, ranging from cute to everyday to downright scandalous.</p><p class="western">‘My father did not want me to marry Bill, you see,’ she said while Remington scribbled in the notebook she handed him. ‘Too poor. So one night we decided we’d elope. Just like that.’ She smiled at the memory and Remington thought he understood what the long gone Bill had seen in his Mary all those years ago. ‘We ran off, the two of us together. Hardly any money between us, of course, but Bill was almost as strong as Ashford here and he was a good worker. We found a place in the city, terrible place really, so small and dark, but it was something. A roof over our head, if nothing else. And so Bill worked for removal companies, lifting boxes and furniture all day, and I cleaned houses and we were able to scrape by enough to get married first, and then we saved up all over again to buy the house. We never thought we’d get it, you know. Imagine us, buying a house!’ She smiled, a little misty-eyed. Next to Remington, Ashford cleared his throat. ‘And we were so happy when we finally got the key! It was still small and a bit dark, but it was <em>ours.’</em></p><p class="western">Remington nodded, frowning at the notebook for a moment before he looked up. ‘You must have loved that house very much,’ he said softly. ‘I think I could feel that. When I went inside for the first time.’</p><p class="western">From the corner of his eye, he could see Ashford grow still, but he didn’t care. ‘There was something there. I’m not sure… I mean, I’d be the last person to start going ‘<em>I feel a presence in this house</em>…’</p><p class="western">He paused and shook his head at Ashford, who snorted. ‘Funny, hm? But no. Like I said, your house almost has a character of its own. And I don’t think that would have happened if you hadn’t been happy there.’</p><p class="western">Mrs. Mortimer nodded and Remington quickly looked away as she wiped her eyes. ‘We were. Very happy.’</p><p class="western">After that, the conversation moved on to the improvements Remington wanted to make to the house. Apart from the obvious, such as the wiring and the gas heater, he suggested a number of other improvements, wrote down the things Mrs. Mortimer and her husband had always planned to do but never had the time or money for, and listened to Ashford as he was the only one in the room who actually knew what could and could not be done. It was another half hour before Mrs. Mortimer’s eyes started to droop a little and her replies became shorter and less cheerful, and Remington realized they were about to overstay their welcome. This was confirmed when a nurse rapped on the door and announced it was time for Mrs. Mortimer’s lunch and subsequent nap, so he and Ashford were summarily bundled back into the hallway, after promising to return as soon as they could.</p><p class="western">‘Both of you, you hear,’ Mrs. Mortimer said, looking between them. ‘And no excuses.’</p><p class="western">‘No ma’am,’ Ashford said with a grin and then the door closed behind them, and it was just the witch and the werewolf, standing in the drabbest of hallways.</p><p class="western">‘Well,’ Remington said after a moment of silence. ‘That was. Something.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Ash realized he was in trouble from the moment he handed Remington his tea. Because this Remington, the one who sat relaxed on an old sofa and chatted with old ladies almost as if he didn’t have a care in the world, was not the Remington he had come to know. It took Ash a while to realize what was so different, which was helped by the fact that the conversation was mostly between the witch and Mrs. Mortimer and no one had asked for his input yet. But then it hit him, and the thought hurt more than he had thought it would.</p><p class="western">This was Remington not being a witch. This was Remington in a world where magical creatures, such as werewolves and witches did not exist. This was Remington, probably, as he would have been had he just been human. And he was so utterly relaxed, smiling and even laughing at Mrs. Mortimer’s remarks, that Ash, for one brief moment, became very tempted to seek out the pack that had hurt this witch so badly and deal out a good amount of hurt in return.</p><p class="western">That urge passed soon enough, fortunately. And in any case, he could blame that on the wolf, lingering under the surface, near as it was to the full moon. What did not pass, however, was the way they sat almost pressed together on that sofa, in a room that was honestly too small to hold three people. Especially if one of them was Ash-sized. He felt every move that Remington made, and he could not shift or move himself without jostling the witch ever so slightly. Add to that that the scent of tea and iron was quickly overpowering the bergamot and potpourri, and Ash could only hope that neither of the others would notice the stains forming under his armpits. And that if they did, he could pass it off and blame it on the tea or something.</p><p class="western">It got a little easier when they got to the more technical aspects of remodeling the house; at least there, Ashford could join in in the conversation and give his thoughts, which mostly were ‘oh yes you can do that’, ‘you could do that but it’s expensive and frankly, not practical in the long run’ and ‘no. Do not do that. It’s dangerous.’ That last one was directed at a not-entirely-serious suggestion from Remington to replace the gas heater with an open fireplace. ‘I’m serious. One stray spark and that house is gone. I’ve seen the woodwork.’</p><p class="western">And Remington and Mrs. Mortimer had laughed and Remington had written <em>NO FIREPLACE </em>in his notebook in all caps and had underlined it twice and then smiled at Ash and god damn it, Ash had grinned back. He felt tempted to tell the witch he was not going to save his ass again until he had made him that blanket and realized just in time that that would probably lead to a lot of questions from Mrs. Mortimer.</p><p class="western">And then Mrs. Mortimer had grown tired and the nurse had kicked them out. Ash found himself back in the hallway, nose still adjusting back to the stench of inadequate cleaning, when Remington smiled again and said: ‘Well. That was. Something.’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded. ‘Yeah. It was.’ It was all he dared to say, because despite what Remington liked to grouse about, he did have a filter. It was just that it usually only kicked in when it was already too late. If he hadn’t had a filter at all, he’d probably have said something like: ‘I just got a glimpse of what you are like underneath all that surliness and grumpiness and I really, really liked it. I want to see more of it, and also, I kind of want to kiss you right now because you are still smiling at me and you look actually happy and I kind of helped you feel that way and that feels good. I want to do it more. Please let me do it some more.’</p><p class="western">Instead he gave Remington a tight-lipped smile. Remington frowned, and Ash’ heart sank at the thought that happy-relaxed Remington was already retreating to make way for grumpy-as-usual Remington. But instead, the witch’s face softened. ‘There,’ he said, right as the smell from the hallway lifted, just a little. Just enough to make it bearable, to make it so that Ash could breathe again. ‘They won’t notice. And this building doesn’t care. Too much coming and going to get attached to anyone, poor thing.’</p><p class="western">And that’s what did it. Werewolf hormones or not, full moon or not, Ashford didn’t care. He took a deep breath, grabbed the witch by his shoulders and proceeded to kiss the life out of Remington Moore.</p><p class="western">And perhaps the most surprising thing was that, after only a moment of surprise, Remington kissed him back. The drab hallway disappeared and Ash only smelled tea and iron, only felt a strong hand gripping his head and another digging itself into his back. Remington was lithe and a head shorter than him, but he clung to Ash with a vengeance and Ash never wanted him to let go.</p><p class="western">Then, much too soon to Ash’ liking, Remington broke off. Not entirely letting go, thankfully, but he bit his lip and looked at Ash, face flushed so gloriously that Ash had a hard time resisting the urge to kiss him again. ‘This…’ He cleared his throat and shook his head. Ash’ heart sank. He knew what was coming, even before the witch said it. ‘I’m sorry, Ashford. This is a bad idea.’</p><p class="western">Ash swallowed. ‘You mean, just here in the hallway of a retirement home?’ he tried. Because he had to try. ‘Or in general?’</p><p class="western">But Remington’s face fell and his shoulders sagged even further. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, far more gently than Ashford felt he deserved after jumping him like that. ‘It’s not… I like you. You know that. But I can’t… Not with a werewolf. Ashford, I’m sorry.’</p><p class="western">For the second time in the span of one hour, Ash fought the urge to seek out which pack it had been that had treated this witch so badly and make them pay. It was a good deal stronger now and something must have made its way onto his face, because Remington stepped back and held up a hand, looking wary.</p><p class="western">Ash felt his heart crack. ‘Alright,’ he said softly, all his anger evaporating. ‘Alright. OK. And I… I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t… probably shouldn’t have done that.’</p><p class="western"><em>You never think things through, do you, </em>the voice of Nick reminded him. <em>No filter, </em>Remington’s voice added.</p><p class="western">But Remington, the real Remington and not the one in Ashford’s mind, just shook his head and looked at him sadly. ‘I didn’t mind,’ he said, just as softly. ‘I would have stopped you otherwise. But… just this once. Just this once.’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded and swallowed the sharp lump of disappointment that was in his throat. ‘Yeah. OK. Just this once.’</p><p class="western">Remington looked at him as if he was about to say something else, but then he sighed. ‘Alright. Let’s go home.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">The drive back home was quiet. Ashford had offered to drive back so Remington sat in the passenger seat and stared at his notebook, not really seeing anything. It was only a quarter past noon and he felt exhausted. Empty. Not at all how he’d felt when talking to Mrs. Mortimer; that had been perfectly pleasant, if a bit bittersweet at times. Not even how he’d felt when Ashford had sprung that kiss on him and <em>damn it.</em></p><p class="western">Ashford had kissed him. And Remington had been so caught up in it, had been so overwhelmed by the sense of <em>good </em>and <em>home</em> and <em>safe </em>that he had kissed him back, without thinking. Without stopping himself.</p><p class="western">So he’d done that afterwards. And that had hurt more than he’d liked to admit. Seeing the werewolf dejected and miserable made something tug and twist painfully inside his gut and Remington hated himself for being the cause.</p><p class="western">But he’d had to. Because the alternative was not an option, no matter how good that kiss had been. And it had been <em>very </em>good.</p><p class="western">Very good indeed.</p><p class="western">The car stopped. Remington looked up and saw, with some surprise, that they were parked outside Willow’s Close and that Ashford was already halfway out the car. He quickly undid his seatbelt and stepped out, taking the notebook with him. When he had rounded the car from the passenger side to the sidewalk, the werewolf was already up the steps and through the front door, disappearing down the hallway before Remington had a chance to say anything.</p><p class="western">Well. That was probably for the best. Remington made his way up the stairs, slowly and taking care not to run into any gossiping ghosts or nosy gnomes. He reached his flat without incident, opened the door, made a beeline for the sofa, sat down, and let out a deep, resounding and heartfelt ‘<em>fuck’.</em></p><p class="western">He sat like that for a while, not moving and staring holes into the carpet. Mind racing a mile a minute and yet still with that hollow, empty feeling inside. Even Lady Jane, who had opened one yellow eye when he stormed inside and started swearing, knew better than to bother him.</p><p class="western">A rapping at the door almost made him jump. He got up and dragged himself back to the door, but the hallway was empty. All he saw was a stack of papers lying on the floor, with a post it note tacked on top. <em>Thought you might want these back. Really sorry.</em></p><p class="western">And that was the moment Remington started to cry.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Remington had considered not going down to dinner that evening. He wasn’t sure what Ashford was going to do and he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to sit down, eat his sweet potato casserole and pretend that everything was fine when it wasn’t. But then, not going would lead to questions and might even lead to Nell coming up in person to inquire as to what the hell was going on.</p><p class="western">It was a tough decision. But in the end, Remington found himself hovering in the doorway to Nell’s flat, avoiding everybody’s gaze, and desperately trying to keep himself together.</p><p class="western">He wasn’t sure it was working. He wasn’t sure he cared. He was just glad that Ashford wasn’t there.</p><p class="western">‘What did you do?’ Orla asked. She was sitting at the head of the table and did not look too friendly. ‘Ash isn’t here. I know you two went out together this morning and I swear if you hurt him…’</p><p class="western">‘No one’s been hurt,’ came Nell’s voice from the kitchen. Remington didn’t have it in him to correct her. ‘Ashford came up about an hour ago to say he would spend some days with his pack. Full moon and all that.’</p><p class="western">Huh. So far for ‘I can shift and stay inside I’ll be fine’. Remington supposed he couldn’t blame the werewolf, though. If he had had a decent excuse to escape Willow’s Close for a bit, he’d have taken it in a heartbeat.</p><p class="western">‘We went to see Mrs. Mortimer,’ he said, finally making his way into the flat and closing the door behind him. ‘Which, thank you by the way. It was… good to meet her.’</p><p class="western">Orla nodded, still not looking too happy. Remington had half a mind to ask her about her latest lead as a way of distraction, but decided against it. That question was always tricky, and right now, he was pretty sure it would not go over well.</p><p class="western">‘Are you sure you’re all right, Master Moore?’ Beau asked. He sat half sunken into the sofa, but did not seem to mind. ‘You do look awfully blue-devilled.’</p><p class="western">Remington didn’t know what that meant, but he could guess. ‘Yeah. I’m fine. Just a bit tired.’</p><p class="western">‘Well, you do go running all around the house a mere three days after almost dying,’ Nell said reproachfully, entering from the kitchen and carrying a large pan. ‘No wonder you’re worn out. Here, we’ll get you a nice bowl of lentil stew and then after dinner, it’s off to bed with you. Do you hear me?’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded and Nell gave him another sharp look. ‘You need rest, Remington. It’s the best medicine for a lot of ailments. Now, Pearl, why don’t you help me with this and Orla, there is some bread in the kitchen that still needs slicing, if you would be a dear, thank you very much.’</p><p class="western">With one last dirty look at Remington, Orla disappeared into the kitchen. Pearl wandered over from where she’d been hovering near one of the side tables, inspecting an antique looking tea set, and started ladling thick brown stew into bowls. The room filled with the hearty scent of vegetables and spices and Remington found himself suddenly starving. Sawing noises from the kitchen indicated that Orla was busy slaughtering the bread. Beau had lifted himself out of the sofa and was now entertaining one of the younger vampires by floating in and out of the other furniture without disturbing anything. The vampire, one Remington had not seen before and who had been introduced by Mr. Donner as ‘young Ian’ even though he looked like he had been undead for at least a century, whooped with laughter. Pearl handed him a bowl and smiled and once again, Remington heard the werewolf’s voice in his head.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Pack. This is your pack now.</em>
</p><p class="western">He shook himself. Forcibly removed that thought. Instead, he took a large bite of stew and pretended that his eyes were burning because it was still the temperature of boiling lava.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">‘Yes of course,’ Ash’ mum had said when he rang. ‘You’re welcome to run with us, cub, you don’t have to ask! Are you coming tomorrow, then?’</p><p class="western">‘No,’ Ash replied, leaning back against the sofa and looking up at the ceiling. ‘Could I… I mean, is it OK if I came over tonight? I, I have tomorrow off and I kind of need to talk to Lewis.’</p><p class="western">‘Yes, of course.’ His mum’s voice was gentle. ‘But cub, are you alright? You sound a little down.’</p><p class="western">‘I’m fine.’ Ash scrubbed his eyes. ‘Just, need to talk to Lewis. And I really need to run tomorrow. But I’m fine. Oh, one more thing.’</p><p class="western">‘I’ll ask the Kingsleys to stay out of our way then, tomorrow, shall I?’ his mum said before he could ask. ‘So you can have a good run without running into Nick.’</p><p class="western">Ash smiled. It came out as a grimace but thankfully, his mum wasn’t there to see. ‘Yeah. Thanks. See you in a bit.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">And that was how Ash ended up driving the near two hours back to Langley on a Thursday night. Only stopping halfway through to get a hamburger at a gas station, because he had skipped Ms. Nell’s dinner and he was, even after the day he’d had, starving.</p><p class="western">The hamburger was tasteless, bland and on the verge of burnt. It sat like a lead lump in Ash’ stomach as he drove the rest of the way, up the motorway first and then turning off to follow a maze of B-roads and narrow country lanes. It took a while before his surroundings started to feel familiar again and even then he did not relax. This was Kingsley country and it would be just his luck if a bright red Mini Cooper with a red-headed ex-boyfriend in it came and pulled up from behind him. That didn’t happen, however, and at long last he reached the point where a dense forest took over the rolling pastures and fields. The road was plunged into darkness, making it tricky to navigate, but Ash breathed a sigh of relief.</p><p class="western">This was home. This was Leigh territory.</p><p class="western">He drove the rest of the way almost on autopilot, eventually coming to a stop in front of a large, sprawling farmstead that seemed to consist of several buildings that were only loosely connected to each other. Ash got out of the car, breathed in deeply and almost wept. He was home.</p><p class="western">And god, he needed to shift. To <em>run. </em>He had been an idiot putting it off for so long, thinking he would be fine. He was not fine, for a variety of reasons, none of which were made better by him staying cooped up inside for over two months.</p><p class="western"><em>That’s because you don’t think things through, </em>Nick’s voice told him. Again.</p><p class="western"><em>Shut the fuck up, </em>Ash replied, almost surprising himself by how good that felt. He turned to the house but before he could take another step, he was all but bowled over by a lithe figure, almost as tall as him, but with a wealth of dark curls that bounced everywhere and tickled in his nose. <em>‘Ashie,’ </em>the figure squealed and hugged him so tight that Ash could barely breathe. ‘Mum said you’d come over but I didn’t know she meant you’d come over <em>now!’</em></p><p class="western">‘Hey Liv,’ Ash said, burying his nose into his baby sister’s hair and breathing in the scent of wood and earth and home. ‘Yeah. Thought I might. Just came to check if the house hadn’t burned down or anything.’</p><p class="western">Olivia swatted him and looked up with huge green eyes shining in the light that spilled from the house. ‘Shut op. That was an accident. And five years ago.’</p><p class="western">‘Can’t be too careful,’ Ash grinned and ducked away as she hit him again. ‘Hey! Stop it!’</p><p class="western">‘Olivia, be nice to your brother,’ a voice came from the doorway. Ash looked up and something inside of him settled. Annabelle Leigh made her way down the steps, at a slightly more sedate pace than her youngest daughter. Like her children, she was tall and dark-haired, but where Olivia’s hair was a mass of curls, Annabelle’s was straight. Her bearing was that of a matriarch, with an easy power that no one in their right mind would challenge without good reason. ‘Hey cub,’ she said with a smile. ‘Welcome home.’</p><p class="western">The hug she gave him was almost as fierce as Olivia’s had been and Ash held on for a long time before he let go. ‘Hey mum. Thanks. Sorry about the short notice.’</p><p class="western">Annabelle smiled and cupped his cheek with her hand. Ash closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, just for a moment. ‘Let’s get you inside,’ his mum said. ‘I know you want to talk to Lewis, but first you’re going to tell me exactly what has been going on with you.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">‘So, let me get this straight,’ Annabelle said after Ash had told his story. It had taken a long time and Ash wasn’t sure he’d done it right, but it had been the best he could do. They had retreated to his mother’s library, just the two of them, despite Olivia’s protests. Ash had been able to fend her off with the promise of telling her everything later, although he regretted it already. Telling it just once had been rough enough. ‘You went away to, ah. Deal with your breakup with Nick. And instead of taking your time and waiting until you felt better, you went ahead and found someone else already? And a witch, too?’</p><p class="western">‘No,’ Ash said with a sigh. ‘I haven’t… I haven’t found him. Not, not like that. It’s not like that.’</p><p class="western">Annabelle sat back, raising an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t it.’</p><p class="western">‘No.’ Ash swallowed. ‘I like him. I do. But it’s not… I don’t know. I don’t think I’m in love with him. But I like him and I want him to be happy and I also want to figure out what hurt him because I know he’s been hurt bad and I want to help make him feel better. Or something. I don’t know. I just want to be his friend, I guess.’</p><p class="western">‘I see.’ The room was quiet for a moment. There was just the faint buzzing of the antique desk lamp and the silent pop and sizzle of the fire in the hearth. It wasn’t a big library and the rows and rows of books and ledgers all around made it look even smaller, but it was the heart of the house and the one place Ash had felt safest of all. He scuffed a toe on the hardwood floor while he waited for his mum to say something, anything. ‘But you did kiss him.’</p><p class="western">Anything but that. His toe slipped. ‘Yes. Yes, I did. But, like I said…’</p><p class="western">‘Yes, yes. Extenuating circumstances. I get it.’ Annabelle shook her head, smiling slightly in a way that did nothing for Ash’ nerves. ‘Alright. Let’s just say that that was a full moon mishap. You did apologize, did you?’ Her gaze grew sharp. ‘Did you?’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded. ‘Yes. Right away.’</p><p class="western">‘Good.’ Annabelle’s expression grew soft again. ‘Alright. It’s quite a story, cub. And I think I understand why you’re feeling so strongly about this Remington? Was that his name? Werewolves and witches, it’s always… it’s never easy. There’s always something there. Your Remington might have tried to get away, for whatever reason…’ She paused, looking troubled. ‘Although I have to be honest. I have never <em>heard </em>of a witch leaving their pack, or a pack sending away their witch. I understand why you didn’t ask, but I would very much like to hear what happened there because it might be something… never mind,’ she said when she noticed Ash’ expression. ‘Never mind that now. My point is. Werewolves and witches. They’re linked. Whether they like it or not. And if you want to be this Remington’s, ah, ‘friend’, then, from what you’ve told me, you will have to tread very, very gently. But I do think it will be worth it to give it a try.’ She looked at Ash, who looked away and stared at his knees instead. ‘Trying to be someone’s friend is never a bad thing, cub,’ she said softly. ‘And from what you’ve told me, this Remington could use one. So. Tread gently, like I said, but don’t give up just yet. Alright?’</p><p class="western">Still not meeting her gaze, Ash nodded again and swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘Yeah. Alright. Thanks, mum.’</p><p class="western">‘Of course,’ Annabelle said, standing up and stretching her legs. ‘Alright. Now, off to bed with you. Lewis will be here in the morning.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Ash slept better that night than he had in a long time. So well, in fact, that he didn’t wake up until it was already halfway through the morning and breakfast time had long been over. Still, he took his time showering and getting dressed, feeling oddly light for once. He was going to run tonight; nothing that happened today could change that, or change the way he was looking forward to finally, <em>finally</em> having a decent shift again.</p><p class="western">Of course, he should have stopped himself there. Because as he walked down the stairs, he bumped into Olivia, wearing a new tracksuit and a guilty expression. ‘Hey Ash. Uhm. Nick’s here.’</p><p class="western">Ash’ good mood immediately soured. ‘Well, tell him to not be here.’</p><p class="western">‘I tried.’ Now Olivia looked annoyed. ‘He didn’t listen. He’s in the small stinky room.’</p><p class="western">‘No.’ Ash sighed. ‘He never fucking does. Alright. Thanks, sort of. I guess that means mum’s not here?’</p><p class="western">Olivia shook her head. ‘Nope. Gone to pick up Mac and Maddie and the cubs. They didn’t want to load everyone in one car, with Maddie being pregnant again, so mum’s gone to take half of them in her car.’</p><p class="western">Yeah, that made sense. If Annabelle had been home, Nick would never have been able to weasel his way in. Ash made a face and made his way down the rest of the stairs, turning left and making his way through various hallways until he reached the small stinky room, called that because it was right next to bathrooms. And it was small, with only space for one sofa and a tiny coffee table. It was certainly not big enough to hold two full-grown werewolves, especially not on the cusp of the full moon.</p><p class="western">Ash wondered if that was on purpose on Nick’s part. It probably was.</p><p class="western">The door was open. He stepped through after only a moment’s hesitation. ‘Hey. Nick.’</p><p class="western">From the dark blue sofa, a tall, lanky werewolf with red hair and a face full of freckles looked up and grinned widely. ‘Hey, Ash-Pash. Long time no see! How’ve you been?’</p><p class="western">If Ash had been even slightly glad to see Nick, then that feeling was well and truly gone when Nick called him <em>Ash-Pash. </em>‘I told you not to call me that,’ he said, setting the door behind him ajar. He did not close it. ‘But I’m fine. And you should leave.’</p><p class="western">‘Aw, come on,’ Nick wheedled. ‘I haven’t seen you in months! Where have you been? Your mum said you’d gone to the city to live in a house full of bogeymen and vampires and gnomes<em>. Gnomes! </em>Please tell me that’s not true because that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever…’</p><p class="western">‘It’s true,’ Ash cut him off. ‘And you still need to leave. Bye.’</p><p class="western">He stepped back and opened the door again. But then again, Nick had never been one for respecting Ash’ boundaries. ‘Noooo, no no no! You have to tell me about this house! And don’t say you’re still mad at me, Ash-Pash. Come on. It’s been months, just tell me you’ve thought about things and we can move on because this is getting silly.’</p><p class="western">‘No.’ Ash’ hand closed on the doorknob, holding tight enough that his knuckles started to shine white. ‘I mean, yes. I have thought about things. And I am not that mad at you anymore.’ He took a breath and went on before Nick had time to say anything. ‘And we’re still done. Over. We’re not getting back together. Nick, we’re <em>done. </em>And you should <em>leave.’</em></p><p class="western">‘Oh, come on.’ Nick rolled his eyes, still grinning as if Ash was being completely unreasonable. ‘It was only a couple of plants. And you said it yourself, there were far too many of them already and then you came home with even <em>more! </em>What was I supposed to do? Ash-Pash, the house was turning into a jungle! I only did what needed to be done, because you have no impulse control!’</p><p class="western">Ash bit his lip. ‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘You said that. A lot. And you. Need. To. Leave.’</p><p class="western">He could hear his wolf howling inside, rage and grief and pain all at once. Nick looked like he was ready to say something else, to draw out his argument even further, but all of a sudden, the howling stopped and Ash was done. He should have been done ten minutes ago, and he shouldn’t have gone into it in the first place, but that was what it was. And what he was now, was done. He shook his head again and then, without another word, turned on his heel and went back into the main house in search of breakfast. Leaving Nick staring after him, open-mouthed. Ash wasn’t sure if he would actually leave, but he didn’t care. They were well and truly done.</p><p class="western">Of course, once he had finally made his way to the kitchen and sat down to a long overdue plate of ham sandwiches with a mug of strong coffee to wash them down, Olivia had to reappear again. Her green eyes were shooting fire and her curls were flying out behind her in even worse disarray than usual. She looked absolutely furious. ‘Ashford Ian Leigh, did that bastard actually touch your <em>plants?’</em></p><p class="western">Ash groaned and rubbed his eyes. He had only been awake for twenty minutes, and he already felt the urge to crawl back into bed. ‘Liv. What did I tell you about eavesdropping.’</p><p class="western">‘It doesn’t count if you leave the door open,’ Olivia countered. ‘And you lied to us. You said you broke up because you just weren’t in love anymore, which, fair. I wouldn’t be in love with someone who touched my stuff either.’</p><p class="western">‘Thanks,’ Ash muttered. ‘And yeah. Sorry about that. He, ah. Yeah. Threw out some plants, yes. And some other stuff. But mostly plants. Uhm. You remember Aloysius?’</p><p class="western">Olivia paused. ‘That Aloe thing dad gave you?’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded.</p><p class="western">‘Son of a bitch.’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded again.</p><p class="western">‘<em>Son</em> of a <em>bitch.’ </em>Olivia had gone from furious to looking downright murderous. ‘Why didn’t you <em>tell </em>us?’</p><p class="western">Ash shrugged. The silence in the kitchen dragged on until Olivia swore again and shook her head. ‘Alright. Alright, alright, alright. OK. Cool. He threw out your plant that was one of the only things you had left from before dad died and then you broke up with him and all told us you were fine. Cool. Great. Fucking <em>hell</em>, Ashford.’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah, well.’ Ash cleared his throat. ‘Just. Try not to murder him anytime soon? Even Aloysius isn’t worth starting a pack war over.’</p><p class="western">Olivia’s face told him she wasn’t too sure she agreed with that. But at last, she shrugged and shook her head, still not looking too happy. ‘Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Listen. Mum’s going to be here any minute, so I’m going for a run. You want to join me?’</p><p class="western">God, yes. Ash all but inhaled his coffee, slammed his plate and cup into the sink and then followed his sister outside. He stripped quickly, leaving his clothes in one of the lockers next to the door and inhaled deeply.</p><p class="western">It didn’t take much; the wolf was clawing, howling to be let out and it took more effort holding it back than to actually shift. The smell of earth, of early morning air and oak trees filled the air and Ash grinned as the world around him started to spin. Color bled away but was replaced by a whole new world of scent and smell and sound. Leaves crunched beneath his weight as he took a step forward and the wolf started to run.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">
  <em>Time falls away. There is just the running. Earth underneath him, blue sky above and trees, his trees all around and the wolf is running, running, running. His breath is all around him, hanging in the air like puffy clouds but he doesn’t see. He just sees the trees and the earth and the rabbits bounding away in front of him. He contemplates going after them for a moment, but he doesn’t. There will be time to hunt tonight, and prey will be bigger then. Deer, tasty juicy deer, sweet and full of autumn berries… the wolf drools. And runs. He runs and runs and runs, now chasing his sister and then going off on his own again, only to double back and race his sister to the big oak right at the edge of their grounds, until he finally runs out of breath. Then he pads over to his sister, who is lying in the biggest pile of leaves and grinning up at him, right until he jumps into the pile and covers her in a shower of dank leaves. She jumps up, snarling and snapping and they fight, rolling across the grass, snapping at each other’s throats until the wolf concedes and rolls over, belly up. His sister huffs and gnaws his ear a little and they lie there, catching their breath. The sun is shining overhead now and it’s pleasant enough for the time of year that they stay there for a while, basking in the unexpected warmth.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Then, at last, the wolf gets up. Nips at his sister to do the same, because he heard a car and the sound of multiple excited voices. Family is coming. Pack is coming. And they’ll run again together tonight. His sister growls a little but she gets up and follows him back to the house at an easy trot. This was a good run, the wolf thinks happily. A really very good run.</em>
</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">After he shifted back, Ash had to agree with the wolf. That had been a good run. He was going to pay for it later, especially if he was going to run again tonight, but that was nothing a hot shower and a couple days of patience couldn’t fix. He felt lighter than he had in days. He had even almost forgotten about the conversation with Nick and as he came out of the bathroom after showering off the packed earth and stray leaves, his mood lifted even further when a stocky man with a shaved head and a moustache a walrus would be proud of rounded the corner of the hallway. ‘Ah, there you are. Hello, Ashford.’</p><p class="western">‘Hey, Lewis,’ Ash grinned as he enveloped their pack witch into a slightly damp hug. ‘Good to see you.’</p><p class="western">‘You too,’ Lewis replied, stepping back and looking him up and down. ‘You look good. City life suits you, apparently.’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah, well.’ Ashford smiled a little sheepishly. ‘It’s working out. For now.’</p><p class="western">Lewis nodded. ‘Good. Now. Your mother told me you wanted to talk to me about a witch?’</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Meanwhile, back at Willow’s Close, the witch in question was busy finishing his latest blanket commission. Remington was not yet behind enough that he had to start offering discounts to his clients, but he did need to get some work done before things started to pile up even further. Fortunately, he only had to work the border to finish this one, which only took him four or five hours as it was merely a case of single crochets all around. He finished around 2pm, and wrapping it up and taking it down to the post office took another thirty minutes. By the time he got back, it was nearing 3pm and the light was already fading. It was too late go down to his new house, he decided. He had ordered one of those electric heaters Ashford had told him about, but he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to plug that in and then turn the lights on. And he wasn’t looking forward to sending the werewolf on another emergency rescue mission.</p><p class="western">Especially if the werewolf wasn’t even here. Remington shook his head as he made his way back up the stairs to his flat, dislodging the thought. He had done an admirable job, all morning while working, not thinking about Ashford, or Ashford’s face, or Ashford’s kiss or Ashford’s arms. Or Ashford’s hurt expression when Remington told him no. He had not thought about that for a second and he was not about to start now. Instead he went into his flat and made for his desk, where he sat down and pulled out Mrs. Mortimer’s notebook. Under the watchful gaze of Lady Jane, he took out his own notebook and started to write. He would have to ask Ashford about the budget later, but that probably wasn’t that important. He had his grandmother’s fund, and in any case. None of the things he wanted to do, except the obviously safety items, were inherently time-sensitive. He could space things out, if he needed to save up first.</p><p class="western">Let’s see. The living room could stay as it was. It was spacious and airy, and the windows on either side let in more than enough light at all times of the day. The only thing he needed to do here, was replace the floorboards and give the walls a new coat of paint, and he would be pretty much done.</p><p class="western">The kitchen also looked pretty modern and was probably fine to keep as it was. He would have to ask Nell about that, because Remington could cook his own meals but he wasn’t sure what would be necessary to set up a kitchen meant to cook food for multiple people. He could do that tonight at dinner. It would distract everybody from the fact that Ashford wasn’t here and that that was probably his fault.</p><p class="western">He shook the thought away. Went back to the list. The bathroom was small, but functional. He would look into replacing the shower, however, because werewolves got filthy and he knew Orla was very particular about water pressure. This house would have to be a good place for everyone, and he was going to make sure everybody got what they needed.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Pack. They’re your pack now.</em>
</p><p class="western">‘Shut up,’ Remington muttered. Bedrooms… there were three. He should probably keep one. The house wasn’t big enough for all of them at the same time, so one was probably enough. The others could be turned into an office or a library or something.</p><p class="western">He paused and looked back at his bookcases groaning under boxes full of yarn, patterns and notions. He sat thoughtful for a moment, then smiled and added <em>craft room </em>to the list. But in any case, like the living room, this was mostly just putting in a new floor and painting over the walls. Maybe buy some new curtains, because with all respect to Mrs. Mortimer, the curtains that were in the house right now were a little threadbare.</p><p class="western">That just left the utility room. Mrs. Mortimer had warned him that the washing machine and dryer were over thirty years old, so he might need to look into getting a new pair. A clothes rack would also come in useful, especially when you dealt with people who tended to remove their clothes before going outside. The tiled floor was perfect and the paint on the walls was still white, so Remington considered this room pretty much done already.</p><p class="western">That just left the backyard. He would have to ask Ashford about that too, he guessed. Perhaps just a tall fence to the street side would be enough.</p><p class="western">He sat back. It had gone fully dark outside and he switched on his desk light as he looked at the plan that was slowly but surely coming together. It was a good plan. It still might blow up in his face one way or the other, but right now, it was a good plan.</p><p class="western">Then he grinned. He stood up, made his way back to the door and started thumping the wall. Unlike a couple of days ago, this time, the response only took a couple of seconds. A tiny head popped out from between the floorboards and gave him a reproachful look. ‘You rang?’</p><p class="western">‘I did.’ Remington watched as the gnome clambered up the side of the wall like a lizard, coming to a stop on top of the intercom phone. There he sat, legs dangling in the air. ‘If this is about your stitch mark thingies…’</p><p class="western">‘No, no.’ Remington held up his hands. ‘I know. Requests to retrieve missing items need to be made within 24 hours. And anyway, I’ve already gone out and got some new ones. No, you can keep those. I, ah. Need something else from you.’</p><p class="western">‘Lots of people needin’ somethin’ from us lately,’ the gnome said airily. ‘Mr. Wolf needs his garden cleaned. Mistress Nell needs windows cleaned. Dragon lady needs fireplace cleaned. What do you need?’</p><p class="western">‘Well….’ Remington said slowly. ‘You see, it’s this. I also have a house. It’s an old house and it hasn’t been cleaned in years. Now, I know you’re probably not interested because, as you say, you have a lot to do and you gnomes are very busy…’</p><p class="western">The gnome’s ears had perked up. ‘Entire house?’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded. ‘Entire house. Not a big house like this, though. Might be below your standards.’</p><p class="western">There was a moment’s pause as the gnome mulled this over. ‘Show house?’</p><p class="western">‘Alright.’ Remington took out his phone and opened a picture. ‘See? Not a big house. Just one floor, seven rooms. Not sure if it’s worth your time.’</p><p class="western">The gnome rubbed his chin as Remington scrolled through the pictures he had taken. ‘I see. I see. Not cleaned in years?’</p><p class="western">‘Five years or more,’ Remington replied, pocketing his phone again. ‘And before that, it was cleaned by a little old lady. Probably could not reach the high shelves, or bend down to sweep up properly.’</p><p class="western">The gnome was practically vibrating off the phone. ‘<em>Five. Years?’</em></p><p class="western">Remington nodded, trying and failing to keep a straight face. ‘Five years. Can you imagine, the mess it is? I’m not sure if you guys can even…’</p><p class="western">‘We can,’ the gnome promised. ‘Sure we can. Just say whenever. We’ll go there. Clean up entire house. All five years. House will be cleaner than clean. Promise. When can we go?’</p><p class="western">‘Soon,’ Remington promised. ‘Next week. I’ll come down and pick you up, however many of you can fit into my car.’</p><p class="western">The gnome beamed. ‘Many,’ he said with such a wide grin, it was a miracle the top of his head didn’t fall of. ‘Many lots of us fit in car. Wait. We clean car first?’</p><p class="western">It took a while before Remington had managed to convince the gnome that no, cleaning his car would not be necessary. It took even more time to swear and promise and assure that he would come down next week to take the gnomes to this magical dirty house that had not been cleaned in years. But eventually, the gnome threw itself off the intercom phone with a high-pitched <em>weeeeeeee </em>and scurried back into his gap between the floorboards. Remington could hear the patter of his feet and his occasional outbursts of glee slowly fade away into the distance.</p><p class="western">He grinned and shook his head. That house was going to be the cleanest goddamn house there had ever been. It would never know what hit it.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">‘House magic, you say?’ Lewis stroked his moustache. ‘Yes. I have heard of that. Not that common, though. But strong, if not always obviously useful.’ He looked at Ash sharply. ‘But you say he doesn’t like using it?’</p><p class="western">‘I’m not sure,’ Ash said. They had retreated to the library again, as the house was slowly but surely filling up with pack members. Brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and aunts and uncles and cousins all came to the Leigh residence for the full moon and there were two words for the things that were now unfolding below in the largest living room: one was <em>loud </em>and the other was <em>raucous. </em>Even one floor up and several rooms away, Ash could hear the roaring of laughter and the shrieks of cubs as yet another part of the pack entered the fray. He shook his head and tried not to smile. ‘At least, he doesn’t like doing it where people can see. I thought it was just a private thing, I mean. I know you don’t like showcasing. But I did see him, that one time, and he looked… scared. And guilty. As if he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to do.’</p><p class="western">There was another howl of hilarity from downstairs. Lewis stroked his moustache again, looking grave. ‘That is not good. No witch should be made to feel like his powers aren’t worth exerting, no matter what those powers might be, or how… <em>frivolous </em>they might seem.’</p><p class="western">‘Frivolous?’ Ash frowned. Sure, talking to a house might be a bit odd. But it clearly mattered to Remington and Ash would not even think about making light of it. ‘What do you mean, frivolous?’</p><p class="western">Lewis took a deep breath. ‘There are those… I don’t know what to call them. But there are wolves, if not entire packs, that set great store by the magic and power of their witch. And it is easy to see why. A witch that can blow things up from a distance, is of course more impressive than a witch who is good at healing, or one who makes excellent wards. Of course, the most common consensus now is that every kind of magic has its own merit and we should not put one above the other. In fact, witches should and do strive to pick up different areas of power, although some will come more easily than others. However, even with a common consensus, there are always…’</p><p class="western">‘Assholes?’ Ash offered. A dark suspicion was rising and he had a feeling he should stop the conversation here. Perhaps he should not even have asked Lewis in the first place, because this was going in a direction that he was pretty sure Remington would not want him to go. Frivolous magic, he got it. Or at least, he thought he did. ‘I think I get the picture. But what’s so bad about having a feeling for buildings?’ <em>What’s so bad about being able to make a home?</em></p><p class="western">‘Nothing,’ Lewis replied. He shook his head. ‘Absolutely nothing. In fact, having a house witch living with you, can be of immense value. Especially in a living arrangement as you seem to have found, Ashford. Wards are one thing. But those wards get infinitely more powerful the more you are connected to a place. And a house witch is as connected as can be.’ He smiled. ‘You take good care of that witch, Ashford. You do not want to be on the bad side of an entire house, I promise you.’</p><p class="western"><em>He made all the walls to his flat close up so I couldn’t go through, </em>the voice of Beau drifted into Ash’ head. ‘Yeah,’ he said, mouth suddenly dry. ‘I get that. Thanks, Lewis.’</p><p class="western">‘No problem, my boy,’ the witch said, leaning back. ‘Now. What is this Olivia told me about that ex-boyfriend of yours doing away with your plants?’</p><p class="western">Never mind Remington and his mysterious dealings. Ash was going to <em>murder </em>his sister.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Dinner that night was a lot. Ash had not exactly forgotten how it could be, with over a dozen werewolves almost giddy with anticipation, but he also had not missed it, exactly. With a bit of a shock, he realized he preferred the dinners at Willow’s Close which, although by no means boring, were almost quiet in comparison. Here, he had to almost shout to make himself heard and before dessert, he gave up and sat back, fading out of the conversation until his mother touched his arm. ‘Are you alright, cub?’</p><p class="western">He nodded and tried a smile. ‘Yeah. Sure.’</p><p class="western">Annabelle did not look convinced. ‘Did Nick come by this morning? I thought he might, he probably noticed…’</p><p class="western">‘He did.’ Ash’ smile vanished. ‘I told him to leave.’</p><p class="western">‘Good.’ Now Annabelle looked outright worried. ‘Because, and don’t be upset, but I heard Olivia tell Lewis…’ She stopped at the look on Ash’ face. ‘Yes, I know. She shouldn’t have. I also heard you yell at her. But I’m sorry, cub.’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded, not really trusting his voice. ‘Yeah. Me too.’</p><p class="western">‘And trust me,’ Annabelle went on, eyes growing hard. ‘If that boy starts sniffing around here again, he will not know what hit him. Trust me, cub. And I trust <em>you </em>to one day tell us all just exactly what else he did, because I have this feeling that it goes a little deeper than throwing out your plants. Although he deserves to be shot just for that.’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah.’ Ash cleared his throat and blinked a couple of times. ‘Uhm. Thanks, mum. And. Maybe. One day.’</p><p class="western">‘One day,’ Annabelle said, squeezing his arm tightly before she let go and turned to one of the real cubs, who was loudly inquiring when they were finally going to <em>run, granma, I wanna run!</em></p><p class="western">‘Any minute now,’ Annabelle promised and to Ash, it could not come soon enough.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">
  <em>The sky overhead is dark and studded with stars. The moon is full and heavy and bright and beautiful. The air is cold, with just a tinge of frost in it. The earth underneath is packed and does not give, which is just how the wolf likes it. It makes it easier to run.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>And run he does. Faster and farther than this morning, because that was just a warming up. He chases the cubs from one end of the grounds to the other and back, racing them towards the tallest tree, or the side of the house, or the pond right at the edge of the woods. He chases his sister again, in earnest this time and when they fight (because he is still a little bit upset with her), it is with tooth and claw and not all of it just pretend. He and his brothers and mother catch a deer and they share, all of them eating in turn until they are so full that running becomes impossible.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>So they sit down and sing. Some of them are a little out of tune still, but they are young and they will learn. Some of them sing of heartache and a grief so old it’s almost become a friend by now. Some songs are cheerful, as if they are perfectly content with were and who they are and they hope it will not change anytime soon. Others sing of the joys and worries that come with having cubs and one…</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>One wolf sings of heartache that isn’t quite grief. Of confusion and hurt and anger, but also of beautiful things, of wondrous magic and of a scent so powerful he recalls it even now, hundreds of miles away. He sings of the hope of a new home, a second pack even and in the end, the heartache and hurt are gone and there’s only wonder left.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Remington had to admit it did feel a little disingenuous, after promising both Mrs. Mortimer and her house that he didn’t want to change anything, to then come in with a small army of big men and two moving trucks to empty it out completely. He could even feel it, a silent disapproval radiating from somewhere near the kitchen and he had to take a quick ‘bathroom break’ to explain things before, say, that gas heater inexplicably turned itself on.</p><p class="western">Not that such a thing had happened to him before. But he couldn’t be too careful.</p><p class="western">‘It’s okay,’ he said under his breath, seated on the closed toilet lid. ‘It’s alright. I promise. I’ll bring most of it back. I can’t keep all of it, but I won’t throw everything out either. I just need it out of the way for now. So I can clean up and make some repairs and all that. You’ll be good as new in a few months and then I’ll bring the stuff back and we can start making you into a home again.’</p><p class="western">He was quiet for a while, listening. Then he smiled. ‘Yes. I promise.’</p><p class="western">‘Mr. Moore?’ came a loud voice from the living room. ‘What’d you wan’us to do with this here sofa, Mr. Moore?’</p><p class="western">‘I promise,’ Remington repeated once more, just to be sure, and then went back out to make sure his precious Chesterfield did not end up in the truck to the secondhand store.</p><p class="western">After all the work he and Ashford had already done, taking the rest of the furniture and boxes outside and loading them in the correct trucks, was a matter of hours. One truck, the one containing most of the boxes, the washing and drying machine and the few items of furniture left in the bedrooms, went to the secondhand store. Over the years, Remington had built enough of a rapport with them that they weren’t too critical in what they took, even going so far as to assuring him that they’d take care of whatever turned out to be unsellable. The other truck, containing the good furniture and the small items Remington had decided to keep as a memento to the Mortimers, went to a storage unit in the city, to be kept safe until the house was ready.</p><p class="western">When they had left, Remington turned back to the house and went into the living room. He looked around the empty space. It seemed smaller, somehow, without all the things that had cluttered it up before. It was also rather dark, with one window still boarded shut and the sun already dipping lower into the sky.</p><p class="western">The disapproval had gone. Instead, he felt a question tugging at the edges of his mind. Uncertainty, mixed with a very tempered bit of hope.</p><p class="western">‘I’ll come back tomorrow,’ he said and the uncertainty made way for relief. ‘I’ll bring some people that are going to clean you up, from top to bottom. And then, later, I’ll come back and bring the werewolf and maybe his friends, and they’ll fix everything that needs to be fixed. And then I’ll bring back the stuff and maybe some new stuff too, and then…’ He grinned. ‘Then we can really get started.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">It was almost dinnertime when Remington made it back to Willow’s Close, and in his hurry to get to Nell’s flat, he failed to spot the werewolf’s van parked on the other side of the road. He did not fail to notice the werewolf himself, however. Ashford was, after all, hard to miss, no matter what room he was in.</p><p class="western">‘Oh.’ Remington paused in the doorway, then stepped into the room. ‘Uhm. Hey.’</p><p class="western">He could feel Pearl looking at him, eyebrow raised, but he ignored her. Ashford looked as surprised to see Remington as Remington was to see Ashford, which should not have helped but it did. He also looked tired, which was not a surprise. ‘Good run?’ Remington asked, when the silence dragged on.</p><p class="western">Ashford nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he rasped and Remington changed his mental description from <em>tired </em>to <em>exhausted. </em>‘Yeah, it was OK. A lot, though. But good.’</p><p class="western">‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Orla asked, sparing one glare for Remington before turning a worried look towards Ashford. ‘You know, I could bring you a plate. If you want to go downstairs and take a nap or something.’</p><p class="western">Ashford smiled and shook his head. ‘Nah. I’m fine. You, ah. You got any new leads yesterday?’</p><p class="western">It was obviously a distraction, but it worked. Orla launched into a story so full of technical jargon that Remington only understood one word out of every five. Pearl disappeared into the kitchen to help Nell and Remington sat down, still keeping one eye on the werewolf. He knew a full moon run was exhausting and he wondered what Ashford was even doing here, instead of sleeping it off back at his pack’s house.</p><p class="western">He didn’t wonder why Ashford had gone there in the first place. If Remington had had the option to get away from the guy he’d kissed and who had then rejected him, he’d have taken it too. And he’d probably have stayed away longer than just two nights.</p><p class="western">Dinner dragged on, more quietly than usual, and at the end of it, Ashford seemed all but asleep in his seat.</p><p class="western">‘I’ll take him down to his flat,’ Nell said, shaking her head but smiling. ‘Poor boy, he’ll fall down the stairs and break his neck otherwise. Remington, Pearl, if you two would be a pair of dolls and start cleaning up for me? Thank you so much, this won’t take a moment.’</p><p class="western">And out the door she was, half pushing half dragging a barely conscious werewolf along with her. Remington watched them go, then caught Pearl’s eye and made a face. ‘What.’</p><p class="western">‘You’ve been staring at him all through dinner,’ Pearl said in a singsong voice, twirling a lock of sleek black hair around her finger. ‘You’re happy he’s back.’</p><p class="western">Remington raised an eyebrow. ‘Pearl. Tread carefully.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Pearl drawled. ‘I’m not treading anywhere. Just pointing out the obvious. Give it up, Rem. No one likes you being all broody. Try being happy, for once. You might even like it.’</p><p class="western">‘Sure.’ Remington rolled his eyes. ‘If only it were that easy.’</p><p class="western">Pearl’s grin was almost as sharp as the claw growing out of her fingertip. ‘Oh, but it is. At least as far as the wolf boy is concerned. Don’t know if you’ve noticed.’</p><p class="western">Yes. Remington had, in fact, noticed. That was part of the problem. He stood up and started clearing the table, ignoring Pearl’s huff. ‘Fine. Be like that.’</p><p class="western">When Nell returned a few minutes later, Remington still hadn’t said a word. But the table was cleared, the kitchen was spotless and the dishwasher was chugging quietly away and so he could at least bid her goodnight and make his way upstairs as fast as he could without seeming like a complete and utter asshole. No matter how much he felt like one.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">That night, his dream started as usual. Snarling and snapping and howling in the distance, and yellow eyes glowing bright in the darkness. But then it changed, into a gentle voice and a shy, self-deprecating smile, and strong arms holding him tight. It felt good. Warm, safe.</p><p class="western">And then it changed again. Teeth and claw and the full moon shining down on him with a cold, unforgiving light.</p><p class="western">It changed again. Laughter and a kind voice telling him good things, though they hurt to hear.</p><p class="western">Again. Cold stares, flashing teeth. The sound of something running towards him, faster than he could ever run away.</p><p class="western">Again. A room full of plants, the smell of warm earth and dark eyes that always seemed to smile, no matter how tired they were.</p><p class="western">Again.</p><p class="western">Again.</p><p class="western">Again.</p><p class="western">When he finally woke up, he felt exhausted. He turned himself over and looked right into the eyes of Lady Jane, who had apparently decided that his bed was her throne now. He held her gaze for a moment, and then flopped back again.</p><p class="western">He had known that a werewolf coming to live at Willow’s Close would be trouble. He just hadn’t quite expected this kind of trouble.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">He waffled about all morning, trying and failing to be productive. He sent emails to his clients, informing them that he was working on their projects and they would receive them as soon as possible; he made another color scheme for the beach blanket because his first one had been summarily shot down; he even ordered some new yarn packs because it was the time of year when Black Friday sales were starting to crop up and well, merino was expensive enough as it was. But aside from that, he didn’t really accomplish anything, and that was because of the one thing he had told himself he needed to do. And the one thing he didn’t really want to do.</p><p class="western">It took him almost until noon before he had gathered up the courage, and then another half hour before he had finally made his way downstairs to knock on Ashford’s door.</p><p class="western">If the werewolf was surprised to see him, he didn’t show it. ‘Hey.’</p><p class="western">He still looked a bit baggy under the eyes, and he was looking at Remington a bit warily. Remington paused, already regretting his decision and in fact, most of the decisions he had made in the past couple of weeks. ‘Oh. Hey. Uhm. Sorry, this is probably a bad time. I can come back…’</p><p class="western">‘No, no.’ Ashford stepped back, face relaxing into a smile. ‘Come in. What do you need?’</p><p class="western">‘Nothing,’ Remington said, stepping inside and trying not to gaze at the sheer amount of greenery inside. It seemed like there were more and more plants every time he came in here, and he wasn’t sure where they all came from. Surely the gardening center did not have that many different options? How many different types of plants could there even be? ‘Ah. Those are new.’</p><p class="western">‘They’re going outside,’ Ashford said, closing the door behind them. ‘Arrived yesterday. Nell put them in here for me. Said she’s happy I’m sprucing up the backyard. And yes, that was another pun.’</p><p class="western">Remington smiled, even though he wasn’t sure he got it. ‘It’s going to look good,’ he said, reaching out and carefully stroking something purple and fragrant. ‘Smells nice, too.’</p><p class="western">‘It does,’ Ashford said and even with his back turned towards him, Remington could hear the smile. ‘Bit strong inside, but it’ll be nice when it’s good and well in the ground.’</p><p class="western">‘I bet.’ Remington breathed in. Enough with the greenery talk. Time to bite the bullet. ‘I’m sorry.’</p><p class="western">Behind him, the werewolf stilled. Remington turned around. ‘That’s why I’m here. To say I’m sorry.’</p><p class="western">Whatever Ashford had expected him to say, it clearly wasn’t that. ‘Wait. What? I thought… I mean, you don’t have… what?’</p><p class="western">‘I’m sorry,’ Remington said, for the third time. ‘I… I know, I mean I told you I have some hang-ups. Around werewolves. But you’ve been nothing but kind to me and I’ve been kind of a dick to you the entire time and I didn’t even thank you for literally saving my life until you told me I hadn’t and I know I keep dragging you everywhere even though you probably have a lot of other things to do and I just, I just feel like I haven’t been entirely fair. To you.’ He took a much-needed breath. ‘So I’m sorry. And I’ll try to be better. I’ll try… I mean, I’d like to be friends.’</p><p class="western">‘Friends,’ Ashford repeated slowly. He still looked a little dazed. ‘Are you… I mean. I did… I did kiss you.’</p><p class="western">‘Yes.’ Remington sighed. ‘Yes, you did that. And I told you. I didn’t stop you and I didn’t mind, just. No more. I’d still like to be friends.’ He looked up, holding the werewolf’s gaze for a moment. ‘I’ve been afraid of werewolves pretty much my entire life. I’m not going to tell you why. But I’m not… I don’t think I’m afraid of you anymore and, like I said. I’d like to stop being a dick.’</p><p class="western">Ashford was still staring at him like he’d grown a second head, but Remington was losing steam. ‘That’s it,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Uhm. So. Yeah.’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah.’ Ashford took a deep breath. ‘Yeah. OK. Friends.’ He smiled and Remington tried not to sag with relief. ‘I’d like to be friends too. And just so you know, you’re not that big of a dick.’</p><p class="western">‘Don’t even have one,’ Remington muttered under his breath, but of course the sharp werewolf ears had to pick up on that. Ashford started sniggering. Remington tried to fight it, but the werewolf’s hilarity was infectious and he soon found himself grinning too, feeling oddly giddy. ‘So you did know.’</p><p class="western">‘Well, now I do.’ Ashford shook his head. ‘Kind of figured, though. Sorry.’</p><p class="western">‘Goddamn werewolves.’ Remington tried to roll his eyes again, but found himself laughing again. ‘Alright, alright. So, we’re good?’</p><p class="western">Ashford nodded, his grin softening to a smile that tugged on something close to Remington’s heartstrings. ‘Yeah. We’re good. Although…’ He paused.</p><p class="western">‘Although?’ Remington asked.</p><p class="western">‘Will you still make me one of those blankets?’ Ashford asked, talking quickly. ‘I mean, you don’t have to, of course and I’ll still work on your house and I’ve already talked to my boss and he’d love to take the job and give you a good price for whatever you want to do, but. You left your papers here last time and I had a look through them and I just…’ He made a little helpless gesture that totally wasn’t endearing at all. ‘I’ll pay you if you want to. I just, I’d really like to have one.’</p><p class="western">Remington blinked. And then smiled, feeling something loosen inside him which wasn’t quite relief, but he didn’t know what else to name it either. ‘Which one?’</p><p class="western">‘The one…’ Ashford hesitated. ‘The one that looks like an autumn forest. I can point it out if you have the…’</p><p class="western">‘No need.’ Remington pulled out his phone and scrolled quickly through his pictures. ‘This one, right?’</p><p class="western">Ashford looked over his shoulder. Remington tried not to be acutely aware of how close he was standing. The werewolf smelled earthy, a musky scent that mixed with the fragrance of the plants in his flat. Remington chose to ignore that too. ‘Yes. That one. Can you… do you still have those same colors?’</p><p class="western">Remington smiled. He should have known. ‘Yeah. I can get those colors, no problem. I, ah. Can’t give you an exact timeline because I have some other projects that need to be finished first, but. This one is actually pretty easy to do, so it shouldn’t take too long. Now,’ he turned to Ashford again. ‘What you said about my house…’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">For something that should have been a quick apology, they talked for well over an hour and by the end, Remington had a pretty good idea of how his renovation project was going to look like (a lot), how much it was going to cost (a lot, although not as much as he’d feared after doing his own online research) and how much time it would take (also, a lot). It was halfway through the afternoon before he realized something else, and he all but jumped out of his chair. ‘Oh, crap. Sorry. I, ah. I have to go. The gnomes are probably waiting and they’re going to kill me if…’</p><p class="western">‘Wait.’ Ashford stood up too, looking intrigued. ‘The gnomes? Did you…’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah.’ Remington said. ‘I did. I asked them to clean up the house now everything’s gone and I said I’d take them today, so I’d probably get going. Otherwise they’ll rob me blind tomorrow and then it’ll be a long time before anyone gets any blankets at all.’ He stopped and turned. ‘Hey. Do you want to come? I mean, there’s not much to do but perhaps you could take a look at the backyard, or…’</p><p class="western">Ashford paused a moment, looking through the door towards his backyard. ‘Actually, I was going to try and get some of those plants in the ground today, but I think it’s a little late to start now. Alright.’ He grinned. ‘I’d like to see what those gnomes do to your house. And I can call my boss while we’re there, and see if we can get some details down so we can start the work within the next couple of weeks.’</p><p class="western">‘Perfect.’ Remington rubbed his hands, trying and failing to swallow down his giddiness at the werewolf’s easy acquiescence. ‘Let’s go pick up the gnomes.’</p><p class="western">
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Out of all the things he’d thought he’d get to do in the city, Ash had never imagined he’d get to load a gaggle of gnomes into the back of his van and driving them out into the countryside. He had thought he would have to drive as carefully as he could so as not to jostle them too much, but apparently the gnomes were smarter than he’d given them credit for. They came out of the house looking determined and carrying lengths of string and twine. The first gnome clambered into the van and up the wall, taking the string with him. A second gnome came after him and after that, it was a flurry of activity that Ash couldn’t quite follow. It only took a few minutes, however, and then he could see that the string and twine had been used to create a makeshift rigging, complete with a safety net and what looked like miniature safety harnesses. One by one, the last gnomes entered the van and took up position somewhere inside. Finally, the one that Ash had come to think of as the head gnome, grinned from the top of the gnome web and gave him a thumbs up. ‘Good to go, guv!’</p><p class="western">‘Right,’ Remington said, who was standing next to Ash and looking just as baffled. ‘OK. Yeah. Good to go, I guess.’</p><p class="western">The drive itself was, contrary to what Ash had expected, remarkably uneventful. The gnomes in the back chattered away at each other but it was a pleasant background noise and not the high-pitched chirping he’d expected. Remington looked over his shoulder every once in a while when they took a sharp turn or hit a speedbump, but all Ash heard was a couple of excited <em>weeeeeee’s </em>and a cheering of <em>again, again, again, </em>which he took as a good sign. After a while, he decided to play along and started driving faster. He was rewarded with even more cheers and whooping and, after a particularly sharp turn, an <em>ooooooooooooh </em>that stretched out for a full minute.</p><p class="western">He grinned at Remington. The witch rolled his eyes and shook his head, but Ash knew him a little better now and he saw the laughter Remington couldn’t quite hide. ‘Just make sure they don’t get nauseous, will you? I don’t want them to puke all over my house and then being to dizzy to clean it up.’</p><p class="western">‘Sure,’ Ash said cheerfully. He let go of the gas, just a little. There was an <em>awwwww </em>of disappointment from the back, followed by ‘gnomes won’t get sick! Promise! Won’t puke all over house either, honest!’</p><p class="western">Ash laughed. Remington shook his head again and did not address the complaints being raised. Ash turned into the street where the house was and, just because he could, accelerated a little only to slam on the brakes when they reached the driveway. The van lurched to a stop, the gnomes whooped and cheered and yes, there were some retching and splattering noises that Ash decided not to think about right now. ‘We’re here!’ he called.</p><p class="western">‘You just had to, didn’t you,’ Remington sighed. Ash tried to look innocent. Remington glared and then turned to open the door, so Ash couldn’t see his face anymore. ‘Fucking werewolves.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">The house looked smaller now that it was empty. But there was something inside that Ash couldn’t quite place, but it felt good. It felt remarkably similar to what he’d felt when he’d first set foot inside Willow’s Close, which, now that he thought about it, made an awful lot of sense.</p><p class="western">‘It’s like you live here already,’ he muttered, shaking his head with a smile. Remington turned and looked at him. ‘What was that?’</p><p class="western">‘Nothing,’ Ash said quickly. Remington looked like he was about to say something else, but fortunately they were interrupted by the gnomes. Fully recovered from their rollercoaster ride, they came marching into the house carrying everything, from miniature bottles and buckets to tiny brooms, mops and dusters. ‘All right!’ the head gnome yelled. ‘You all know team. All team know place. Team attic, up! Team utility, down hall! Team bedroom one, two and three, a-that a-way! Team kitchen, good luck! Team bathroom, better luck! Team hallway and living room, <em>with meeeeee!’</em></p><p class="western">Like a tiny Roman army, the gnomes split off into cohorts and marched into their assigned directions. Moments later, there came the sounds of industrious scrubbing and the sharp smell of artificial eucalyptus filled the air.</p><p class="western">Ash sneezed. ‘God damn it.’</p><p class="western">‘Sorry,’ Remington said. Now it was his turn to grin, apparently, and he did so evilly. ‘Can’t help you this time.’</p><p class="western">Ash tried to glare, but sneezed again. ‘<em>Damn </em>it!’</p><p class="western">From the utility room, something that was probably a working song but sounded like a deadly wounded animal started up. It was quickly taken over by the gnomes in the other rooms until the entire house rang with it and Ash had to clap his hands over his ears. He shot a pleading look at Remington, who was not even trying not to laugh. ‘<em>Please </em>do something?’</p><p class="western">‘Alright, alright.’ Remington sniggered and then, magically, the sound and smell lessened. They didn’t go away, but it was like the air around Ash condensed and kept out the worst of it. Ash breathed out. ‘Thanks.’</p><p class="western">‘Sure,’ Remington said, still looking a little bit gleeful. ‘Now. You said something about calling your boss?’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">It was two hours later. Ash had just gotten off the phone with Mr. Summers after an extensive walkthrough through the entire house (shushing the gnomes as they went). The renovation plan had now taken solid shape, to the extent that the window would be replaced next Monday and Mr. Summers, Sammy and Ash would start working on replacing the electric wiring the Wednesday after that.</p><p class="western">‘You’re lucky,’ Mr. Summers had told Remington over the phone. ‘We just had another project fall through. I usually don’t do special treatments, so even if you’re a friend of Ashford’s, you’d have had to wait your turn. But this time of year, we can fit you in a bit more easily. Would’ve been tough if you’d waited until the new year, but. Like I said. You’re lucky. If all we got to do is the gas and the wiring, you’ll be all set before Christmas.’</p><p class="western">And Remington had thanked him and then smiled at Ash and Ash realized he was in trouble. And he wasn’t sure he could just blame it on the wolf hormones any longer.</p><p class="western">‘You know that’s not all, right?’ he told Remington, a bit hesitantly. ‘I mean. You still need to replace the floors and paint everything and you said you wanted to look into insulating the windows…’</p><p class="western">‘… not to mention the kitchen and the bathroom,’ Remington finished, not looking in the least bit daunted. Ash envied his optimism. ‘Yes, I know. But at least we can do that without risking being electrocuted or poisoned.’</p><p class="western">And that, Ash conceded, was entirely fair. He also noticed the casual use of ‘we’ and tried not to feel too thrilled about that. There was still a little bit of the wariness and tension around the witch as they moved from one room to the next, but Ash could tell he was making a conscious effort to relax. There were more smiles, there was even an attempt at actual small talk when they were wrapping up and ready to go home and when Remington, fully aware that Ash was standing next to him, reached out to brush against a wall and quietly told the house that they would be back soon, Ash felt something flip and turn inside him. He didn’t say anything, sure that it would not be appreciated; but that didn’t stop him from brushing his own fingers over the spot Remington had touched, even though there was absolutely no practical or even sensible reason to do so. But the house was full of the scent of tea and iron and Remington looked up at him expectantly when he held open the door to the hallway and right at that moment, a late sunbeam caught in his hair, turning the dark brown into the deepest red and burnished gold and yeah. Ash was screwed.</p><p class="western">And he didn’t care. At all.</p><p class="western">‘You coming?’ Remington asked when Ash didn’t move. ‘If we want to be home in time for dinner, we’d better go.’</p><p class="western">Home. Ash smiled. ‘Yeah. Although we’d better go and round up the gnomes first. Not sure if we’d get any dinner if we didn’t bring back the Willow’s Close Cleanup Crew.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Rounding up the gnomes, however, was easier said than done.</p><p class="western">‘No,’ Remington said, in a very patient tone. ‘Absolutely not. None of you are staying here. It’s too risky.’</p><p class="western">‘Not risky at all!’ the head gnome protested. ‘We had good think about this. Know house will be busy with normals. But we used to that! You think we only do Big House, we do lots of houses and no one ever knows we there!’</p><p class="western">Remington blinked. ‘Really? Lots of houses?’</p><p class="western">The head gnome nodded furiously. ‘Oh yes. You know very big house, in the big park in the big city? The one with flags and things? Brother clan of mine, they do that. No one knows. Keep secret. We do this here, too. Live in attic and when normals come up, we hide. We good at hiding. Very good. Please?’</p><p class="western">‘Do they mean…’ Ash asked, not sure if he wanted to know.</p><p class="western">‘The Royal Palace,’ Remington said, shaking his head as the gnome nodded again. ‘Yes! Palace! We clean palace for all the normals with funny hats!’</p><p class="western">‘Oh my god,’ Ash muttered. Remington buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking and Ash had never wanted to touch anyone so badly. ‘OK. Remington, I think they’re good.’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded. He put on his sternest face, which only wavered a little as he looked back down at the gnome. ‘Alright. Part of you can stay. The rest of you, back in the van. We leave in five minutes!’</p><p class="western">There was a general cheering and then a loud chattering as a small fight broke out about the detail that got to stay behind. It was resolved, apparently, by the head gnome jumping up and down a few times and uttering a high-pitched shriek that hurt Ash’ ears. After that, about a dozen gnomes split off from the group and thundered upstairs. The rest, dejected but obedient, was marched back outside and into the van. In the doorway, the head gnome paused and looked up at Ash. ‘They all tired,’ he said quietly. ‘Will be asleep soon. No wild ride back home?’</p><p class="western">‘Of course,’ Ash promised. ‘I’ll be careful.’</p><p class="western">And he was. This time, he took care to slow down before every turn and speedbump, as the silence in the back of the van deepened by the minute. Remington looked over his shoulder when they were about halfway, and grinned at Ash. ‘I think we have to carry them out when we get home,’ he said quietly.</p><p class="western">Ash smiled back before turning his eyes to the road again. Remington looked into the back once more and then settled into his chair. ‘Good day,’ he muttered. ‘By the way, if you want to…’ He hesitated a little. ‘I mean. You said you’d wanted to work in your backyard. I can help you. If you want to. I mean, I don’t have that much of a green thumb, but…’</p><p class="western">‘Nah,’ Ash replied after giving the idea a moment’s consideration. He glanced aside. ‘Thanks. Appreciate it, but. I think that’s something I’d rather do alone.’</p><p class="western">Remington paused, his expression soft. ‘Nick?’ he asked. Ash nodded. ‘Yeah.’</p><p class="western">‘You know,’ Remington said after the quiet had stretched on for a while, ‘I think I’d like to have a word with that ex of yours sometime. Doesn’t have to take long. But…’ he glanced at Ash again, who was keeping his eyes firmly on the road. ‘I’m sorry. Shutting up now.’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded, clenching his jaw for a second and then breathing out. ‘Nah. It’s OK. And you’d have to get in line, too. I think at this point there’s my sister, my mum, Lewis and then Orla who’d all like to kick his ass for me.’</p><p class="western">‘And you don’t?’ Remington asked, then immediately rolled his eyes. ‘Nevermind. You don’t have to answer that.’</p><p class="western">‘Now look at who’s got no filter,’ Ash muttered and Remington huffed. ‘And… no. I don’t think so. I’m just… I’m just done. I’d like to move on. I was angry,’ he continued, wondering when the quiet ride home had turned into ‘let’s talk about Ash’ feelings’ hour. ‘But mostly at myself. I mean. I was right there with him and I knew that he… I mean, I knew I wasn’t happy. And I could have walked away at any point in time. And I didn’t. I’m not blaming myself,’ he said quickly when he caught Remington’s sharp look. ‘But, yeah. It wasn’t all Nick’s fault. We were just… we didn’t fit and we tried to force it anyway and then, things blew up. It’s not just one person’s fault, even though…’ He took a deep breath. ‘Even though one person turned out to be an even bigger jackass than I thought.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh good,’ Remington shook his head, mouth quirking into a smile. ‘I thought you were going to be all mature and reasonable.’</p><p class="western">‘Can’t have that,’ Ash said, trying for cheerful and almost hitting the mark. ‘But yeah. Like I said. I’m done, I want to move on, but I won’t object if Orla subscribes his ass to every porn magazine she can find.’</p><p class="western">‘That’s the spirit,’ Remington said and Ash laughed, feeling lighter than he had ever since he’d returned from his pack’s house.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">When they got back to Willow’s Close, it took a while to wake up the gnomes. It seemed Ash’ easy driving had lulled most of them into an almost comatose state, and it was only after Remington had managed to wake up the head gnome, who let out an ear-splitting whistle and jumped up and down with high-pitched shrieks of <em>‘up up up up up up’ </em>that there seemed to be any movement. One by one, the tiny harnesses were opened up, gnomes clambered down yawing and rubbing their eyes and dragging the web with them as they went. They shuffled out of the van and Ash took the split-second decision to stand in the middle of the road, just to avoid them being flattened by incoming traffic as they slowly crossed over to the house. It wasn’t exactly necessary, but it did earn him another appreciative smile from Remington and frankly, that was worth looking like a bit of an overprotective mother hen.</p><p class="western">‘Don’t think you’ll lose any of those stitch markers anytime soon,’ Ash said when the last gnome had disappeared inside. ‘Don’t think I’ve seen them like this, not even after they cleared up my backyard.’</p><p class="western">‘Well,’ Remington said, crossing the road behind him. ‘One can hope. And thank you. For helping me out, I mean. Don’t know what I would’ve done if…’</p><p class="western">‘You’d have found someone else,’ Ash said easily. ‘Someone who’d make you pay through the nose, and you’d have spent a fortune and then a week later your house would’ve come crashing down around you.’</p><p class="western">Remington glared at him. It wasn’t as impressive anymore and god, Ash wanted to kiss him. ‘Yes. Thank you.’</p><p class="western">‘No worries.’ Ash smiled, tamping down on the urge to grab the witch by his shoulders again. They were doing so well right now; he wasn’t going to ruin it. Not again. ‘See you at dinner?’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded and turned to make his way upstairs. Ash lingered, just a moment. Just to watch the witch walk away. There was no harm in that.</p><p class="western">‘Do you know, I suspect that that is exactly the reason why it was considered polite to let the men ascend the stairs first,’ came a voice to his right. Ash jumped and then sagged, swearing. ‘<em>Beau!’</em></p><p class="western">‘Oh, pardon me,’ the ghost said, hovering halfway through the wall. ‘But I have to agree with you, Mr. Leigh. Mr. Moore provides an excellent view.’</p><p class="western">Ash glared at him. ‘Go away.’</p><p class="western">‘As you wish, Mr. Leigh.’</p><p class="western">The hallway was empty again. Ash huffed and shook his head, then grinned, because yes. It <em>had </em>been a good view. A very good view indeed.</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">‘Ah, Mr. Moore,’ the contractor who had introduced himself as Mr. Summers said when Remington opened the door. ‘Right on time. We’re nearly done here, Ashford is just finishing setting up the boiler in the attic.’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded and shook Mr. Summers’ hand. ‘Oh wow. That was fast. Ashford told me it’d take you two weeks, at least.’</p><p class="western">Mr. Summers grinned. ‘Nah. We like to err on the safe side. I had a couple lads help out, get both the gas and the wiring… by the way, good thing we replaced that. And a good thing you didn’t use the washing machine while you… you know what, never mind that,’ he said quickly when he saw Remington’s look. ‘As I said. Most of the work we managed at the same time, so here we are. Safe and sound.’</p><p class="western">If Remington had been curious about the state of his house before Mr. Summers had opened up the walls, he wasn’t anymore. ‘That’s good,’ he managed. ‘Thank you. And thank you again for coming in so quickly. I really appreciate it.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh, no need, no need,’ Mr. Summers assured him. ‘It’s what we do. And I have to say. Even though it is my job, I do appreciate you choosing to fix only what needs fixing. Too many people go in and want to have their entire house stripped without even stopping and thinking whether it needs to be. A house has a soul, Mr. Moore, and I respect the fact that you’re keeping this one intact.’</p><p class="western">Remington smiled and decided not to tell Mr. Summers that he was preaching to the choir. ‘Saves a lot of headaches, too,’ he said simply. Mr. Summers laughed. ‘Damn right, damn right. Now. Let me show you what we did and then we’ll see whether Ashford is done upstairs. Be nice to have some hot water without CO, hm?’</p><p class="western">Remington decided he liked Mr. Summers. He could see why Ashford liked working for him, too. A kind man, who did not ask too many questions but did what you asked him to do, did it fast, did it well and charged an honest price for his work. As they went through the house room by room, with Mr. Summers pointing out such exciting features as brand new light switches, power sockets in convenient places and his gleaming new radiators in every room.</p><p class="western">‘Thermostat in the living room,’ Mr. Summers pointed out. ‘You can set the temperature here, and it’ll warm up the entire house. Might want to make sure to turn of the radiators in rooms you’re not using, or your gas bill will go through the roof. Although I suspect it’ll still be less than you’d be paying with that death trap we took out of here.’</p><p class="western">‘Right.’ Remington paused. ‘That bad?’</p><p class="western">‘Well, let me put it like this.’ The contractor rubbed his chin, which did not inspire Remington with confidence. ‘The fact that you managed to turn it on at all, was a miracle. The fact that it leaked CO like a faucet, that was only to be expected. And the fact that it did not blow up in your face, well. That was downright heavenly intervention. I don’t know if you’re religious, Mr. Moore,’ he said with a grin that Remington found extremely inappropriate, ‘but I’d give some thanks to whoever is looking out for you upstairs. They’ve deserved it.’</p><p class="western">‘Right,’ Remington said again. He swallowed. ‘Yes. I’ll do that. Thank you. Uhm. You said Ashford was upstairs?’</p><p class="western">Ashford was indeed upstairs. Lying on his back on the floor and doing mysterious things at the back of a big white box. Remington could not resist looking around furtively and, to his relief, found no real evidence of the resident gnomes. There was a small pile of trinkets heaped up in one faraway corner which he wondered at, but only briefly. Instead he chose to focus on Ashford, who was slowly emerging from the depths of his brand new boiler. He was grinning widely. There was a spider web in his hair which made Remington wonder about what the gnomes had actually been doing and his hands were covered in scrapes and smudges and Remington’s heart skipped a beat, to his great annoyance. ‘Hey, Remington. You here to see your new baby in action?’ the werewolf asked, patting the side of the boiler. ‘Got her all set up for you, so let’s see what happens if we go down and turn on the tap.’</p><p class="western">‘It looks good,’ Remington managed, looking from Ashford to the boiler. There were some clanking and buzzing noises and he frowned. ‘Is it… it’s supposed to do that?’</p><p class="western">‘Yup,’ Ashford said cheerfully. ‘Just turned her on. It’s heating up now, shouldn’t take a minute. After you.’ He gestured to the door and they piled out again, making their way back downstairs. The kitchen, to Remington’s relief, was spotless, which he chose to take as proof that the gnomes had not, in fact, abandoned ship. Even the place where the washer and dryer had been and which had been a dark, greasy patch, was now gleaming and smelled faintly of eucalyptus. As far as Remington was concerned, the gnomes deserved all the trinkets in the house they could get their tiny hands on.</p><p class="western">‘OK, here we go,’ Mr. Summers said with a grin. ‘Mr. Moore? If you would do the honors?’</p><p class="western">‘Sure.’ Remington stepped forward and turned on the tap. Water splashed into the sink, cold at first but after a couple of seconds, steam started to rise up. He held out a hand and quickly withdrew it. ‘Ouch. Yes, that’s hot alright.’</p><p class="western">‘Perfect,’ Mr. Summers said. ‘Then it seems we’re done here for today. I will talk to Ashford here about insulating your windows and checking your window frames, seeing as that’s probably next on the list, and then we’ll try and schedule those later this month, although it might not happen until the new year. After that, we will look at the paint outside and then, seeing as we don’t do floors or bathrooms or kitchens, you will be on your own.’ He smiled. ‘Although I suspect Ashford will be more than happy to help you out.’</p><p class="western">‘Of course,’ Ashford said. He had disappeared down the hallway and, from the sound of rushing water in the bathroom, had been testing the taps in there. Now he came back into the kitchen, rubbing the spider web out of his hair. ‘Don’t worry. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.’</p><p class="western"><em>Thank god for that, </em>Remington thought as he shook his head. ‘I know. Thanks,’ he said, aiming a quick smile at Ashford. ‘Speaking of, the parts for the fence will be here this afternoon. They should be here in half an hour.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh, good.’ Ashford nodded. ‘Alright. Then I’ll wait with you. And me and Patrick will come over this weekend to put that up, if that’s OK.’</p><p class="western">‘See?’ Mr. Summers said, putting on his jacket and grabbing his toolbox. ‘Invaluable, that one. See that you keep an eye on him, Mr. Moore. Good day.’</p><p class="western">Ashford had been invaluable, Remington reflected when he saw the contractor out. Next to taking complete charge of all communications with Mr. Summers, so that all Remington had had to do was hand him the key to the house and wish him good luck, he had also handed Remington a list of reputable dealers in kitchens, bathrooms and flooring, <em>and </em>offered to go with him when Remington went to any of them to discuss his options, to make sure he wasn’t getting ripped off.</p><p class="western">‘You want to pay a fair price,’ he said when he’d noticed Remington went a bit green around the gills at seeing the cost per meter of hardwood flooring. ‘These companies are honest, not like some others where they add a ridiculous margin and then on top of that, charge you an arm and a leg to install everything. But even so, it might help to have someone with you who actually knows what a kitchen cabinet should cost you.’</p><p class="western">So far, Remington had booked appointments at three different stores early in the next year and he was looking forward to none of them. But having Ashford there would help, and it would at least make it go by faster. The werewolf had also been the one to take him around the gardening center to help him pick out a fence; this was one thing that couldn’t really wait, Remington had decided. Or perhaps it could, technically, but he wanted it up as soon as possible. After all, as long as the house had running water, safe electricity and a fence to keep the neighbors’ eyes out of the backyard, most creatures from Willow’s Close wouldn’t care about the scuffs on the floor or a bit of draft coming from the windows.</p><p class="western">As soon as the fence was up, he could tell everyone exactly what he was planning. He hadn’t until now; he wasn’t sure what the others thought he was going to do. He suspected they knew he wasn’t going to leave them, and he had told Ashford he wasn’t going to sell it either, but the rest, he had kept to himself. Just in case.</p><p class="western">He went back into the living room and looked around. It felt warm, and he realized that that hadn’t happened before. The radiators were definitely working, and he smiled. ‘We’re getting somewhere,’ he said quietly, briefly touching the doorpost. ‘At least people will be safe now. That must have been rough, right?’</p><p class="western">The feeling he got was definitely one of relief. And a sharp jab, right under his ribs.</p><p class="western">‘Yes, I know it hurt,’ he said, rubbing his thumb soothingly across the wood. ‘And I’m sorry. But you feel better now?’</p><p class="western">More relief. A flicker of hope, stronger than before.</p><p class="western">‘Good. I’m glad.’ He bumped his shoulder against the wall for a second. ‘There’ll be more people. Doing more work. It might hurt a little more, but you will feel better afterwards. I promise.’</p><p class="western">Wariness, and a hint of dejection.</p><p class="western">‘I know, I know. But it’ll be alright. Honest. And then, when everything is done, I’ll come back and you’ll get to meet the people that will come and stay here. Have I told you about them yet? I think you’ll like them.’</p><p class="western">The wariness didn’t go away, but was mostly replaced by curiosity, mingled with excitement. However, before Remington could reply, he was interrupted by the rumble of tires on his driveway and the honking of a horn. He turned around and almost bumped back into the wall when he saw Ashford standing at the foot of the stairs. ‘Oh. Hey. Didn’t know…’</p><p class="western">‘Haven’t been here long,’ Ashford said quickly, even though Remington hadn’t asked. ‘Just went back upstairs to check the hot water temperature. Don’t want anyone to burn themselves while doing dishes.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh.’ Remington breathed out. ‘Thanks.’</p><p class="western">As he went to open the door to the delivery driver, he briefly wondered if he should tell Ashford that he wouldn’t have minded if the werewolf had been watching him talk to the house, or at least not that much, but decided against it. He had finally found his footing around Ashford, more or less, and talking about his magic always made him stumble. No sense in going there now. Not when there were fence parts to unload.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">That night when he went up to his flat after dinner, thoroughly sore from helping Ash carry the fence parts into the backyard, the first thing he did was take a long and boiling hot shower.</p><p class="western">The second thing he did, was get out his box of yarn swatches. He had sent off the beach blanket early that morning, after an almost endless back and forth about the color scheme. Thank the gods it was only a baby blanket and he’d been able to complete it in two days after the client had finally given the OK on the color scheme he’d submitted to her in the very first place. And now, it was time for something else. As Mr. Summers had said, Ashford had been and continued to be invaluable. It was time Remington started to hold up his end of the deal.</p><p class="western">Deftly, he separated the swatches by material again. Acrylics together and back in the box immediately because he wasn’t to cheat the werewolf like that. He held a cotton swatch up to the light and hesitated. The colors were good and it was easy to work with, that was true. But it was also what he used for literally any blanket, unless the client was willing to pay through the nose.</p><p class="western">He rooted around and found a merino swatch. Rubbed his finger over the thread and smiled. Yes. It would be a little expensive, but then again. Ashford was saving him an infinite amount of both money and headache, so Remington considered it more than fair. It would make things a little more complicated, but then again: to him, sorting out colors was usually half the fun of starting a new project.</p><p class="western">A few moments later, he had all the original cotton yarn colors of the pattern lined up. He spent pretty much the entire rest of the evening carefully comparing them to the merino swatches he had, and occasionally to the chart of colors for the ones he didn’t have. Lady Jane watched patiently as he switched and swapped swatches around, discarding one and picking up another, discarding that one and reaching back for the first. By the time he had reached something that he thought might work, it was nearing 10pm and he was thoroughly exhausted.</p><p class="western">He turned around and grinned at Lady Jane. ‘He’s going to love this.’</p><p class="western">Lady Jane blinked and did not dignify him with a response. Remington shook his head and looked back at the colorful chaos he’d created. ‘He will,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘I really think he will.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">That night, when he had finally dragged himself to bed, he dreamed of wolves again. But this time, the howling didn’t scare him. The snarling and snapping, the cold, glowing eyes that followed him no matter how fast he ran, it was still there, but he was nowhere near as terrified of them as he had been before. Because this time, <em>he</em> had a wolf too. A big grey one, larger than he’d ever seen and it was running along with him. It caught him when he stumbled and it stopped and turned when one of the other wolves, the bad wolves came too close. Then it raised up its hackles and exposed its teeth in a vicious snarl and the other wolves stopped too. They hadn’t met this new wolf before. They didn’t know what to do with it.</p><p class="western">The wolf, Remington’s wolf, the big not-scary wolf growled. The sound reverberated through Remington’s bones and in the dream, he closed his eyes. He heard the sounds of fighting, yelps of pain and howls of frustration and then it was over and all the wolves were gone except the big one. It padded over to Remington, tongue hanging out of its mouth in a wolfish grin. Remington, barely breathing, held out a hand. The wolf came closer, so close that Remington smelled earth and green things and musk, so close he could almost touch the coarse fur of the wolf’s neck…</p><p class="western">… and then he was awoken by the loud yowling of Lady Jane, because it was time for breakfast. He blinked awake, unsure but his heart in his throat and the feeling of disappointment heavy in his stomach.</p><p class="western">‘Well,’ he muttered after a moment when his heartrate settled slowly into a slightly more appropriate rhythm. ‘That was new.’</p><p class="western">He looked over at his alarm as a thought struck him. 7.30am. That meant Ashford had probably already left for work and he would have to talk to him tonight instead. Remington rubbed his eyes and blew out a breath, dispelling the last remnants of his dream and trying desperately to ignore how, for probably the first time ever during his wolf dreams, he had felt completely safe.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">That night, after a dinner of surprisingly spicy Indian curry, however, Ashford got to him in the hallway outside of Nell’s flat before Remington could get to Ashford. ‘Remington, one second. Can I talk to you?’</p><p class="western">Remington blinked. ‘Uhm. Sure? Is there… Is there something about the house?’</p><p class="western">‘No, no,’ Ashford said. He looked a bit shy, staring down at his feet. ‘Or, yes. Uhm. It’s just, the full moon’s in a couple of days, and… well. I… Last time I went to my pack’s but I’m not sure… I mean.’ He stopped, faltering and making a face at the words that weren’t coming out the way he wanted.</p><p class="western">Fortunately for Ashford, Remington knew exactly what he was about to ask, as he had been about to offer the very same thing to the werewolf himself. ‘You want to stay at the house?’ he asked gently.</p><p class="western">Ashford’s shoulders sagged in relief. ‘Yes. Please. If you don’t mind. I can’t… I can’t stay inside again and going back home is also… it’s a lot.’</p><p class="western">Remington made a face in sympathy. ‘Yeah. I get that. And of course.’ He smiled at the werewolf’s surprise. ‘It’s almost as much your house as it is mine, at this point. Do you…’ He stopped himself just in time, right before he realized what he was about to ask. ‘Never mind. Of course, it’s all yours.’</p><p class="western">‘Perfect.’ Ashford smiled, a wide, happy smile that almost made Remington regret not asking that question. And then: ‘I’ll ask Orla if she wants to come with. You know, running alone in an unknown territory, best to have someone on hand just in case. Is that OK? I mean, I know she hasn’t been to the house yet and I don’t want to…’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah, sure.’ Remington swallowed the <em>Or I could come with you </em>that was fighting its way up and out. That would be a supremely bad idea, even for him. Instead he grinned. ‘Hey. Ask her to try and figure out the best way to set up an internet connection while she’s there.’</p><p class="western">Ashford laughed and something inside Remington settled at the sound. ‘Don’t think I need to ask that, really. She’ll have you set up before you can say ‘Illegal downloading’.</p><p class="western">Now Remington laughed too. The tiny voice in his head that kept saying he was being a coward and an idiot wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t know and so he chose to ignore it. That was probably best for everyone involved.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">A couple of days later, there was a knock on Ash’ door. And even though he tried not to sniff out his visitors before he’d opened door because that was rude, there was no mistaking the hint of salt that came from the other side.</p><p class="western">Although when he opened the door and looked at Orla’s face, he realized that the sea wasn’t the only water in the world that smelled of salt. Tears did so too, and there were rather a lot of them. They were streaming down Orla’s cheeks and, judging by the black smudges and general puffiness around her eyes, they had been doing so for a while.</p><p class="western">Ash didn’t hesitate. He pulled her inside, closed the door and wrapped his arms around her. ‘Bad lead?’ he asked as she buried her face against his chest. She was shaking like a leaf and Ash rocked her from side to side, patiently waiting. This had happened twice already, and he’d learned to recognize the signs. Orla would cry her eyes out, he would offer as much comfort, commiseration and condolences as he could and then she would crash on his sofa for the night and be gone in the morning.</p><p class="western">But this time, Orla shook her head. Ash looked down at her buzz cut and frowned. ‘Then what…’</p><p class="western">But Orla had settled in for the long haul, and it wasn’t until Ash had parked her on his sofa, made her a cup of tea and then sat down next to her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders again, that she managed: ‘<em>Good </em>lead.’</p><p class="western">Ash’ jaw dropped. ‘<em>Good </em>lead?’</p><p class="western">Orla nodded, wiping her eyes. ‘Yeah.’ She hiccupped. ‘Or at least. It… it was a bad lead at first but I think… I think…’</p><p class="western">‘Alright, alright,’ Ash muttered, pulling her close as she started to shake again. ‘So a bad lead that turned good? Is that it? Gods, Orla, that’s great!’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah,’ was the muffled reply as Orla sat up again. She looked worse than Ash had ever seen her and that was saying something, but there was a smile in there somewhere too, almost scared to come out in full. ‘Yeah. It’s… it’s great. I think. You see, there was this guy…’</p><p class="western">She launched into a long and intricate story that Ash only understood half of. But he did catch enough to realize that this actually sounded like a solid lead, much more solid than the ones that had fallen through before. He thought he understood now why Orla was so upset; seeing a first glimmer of real hope after three years would reduce a lot of people to a sobbing mess. ‘I’m happy for you,’ he said softly when she finally fell silent. ‘Really, Orl. I’m so, so fucking happy for you. And if there’s anything I can do to…’</p><p class="western">Orla shook her head. ‘Nah.’ She sniffed. ‘M’sister is coming up tomorrow. We’ll go down to Brighton together and start looking there. Might take a while, but…’ She shrugged. ‘At least now we know where to start looking. Oh!’ She looked up, wide-eyed, and clasped a hand to her mouth. ‘I forgot! Ash, I’m so sorry but I can’t… I mean, I know the full moon’s in two days but I can’t…’</p><p class="western">‘No, of course not,’ Ash said quickly. ‘Are you kidding me? Of course you’re not coming to wolf-sit me! You…’ He rubbed her buzz cut, making her laugh, and then pressed a kiss to the stubble, ‘you are going to Brighton and find your guy. And then kick his ass for me. Alright?’</p><p class="western">Orla hiccupped and sniggered. ‘You bet your sweet butt I will.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">After he had escorted Orla back upstairs, Ash hesitated in the hallway just a moment. Then he sighed and decided that he might as well get it over with. He’d find another solution tomorrow, maybe he could go back to his pack after all. Nick probably wouldn’t be there to harass him, not now that the rest of his pack was out for his blood and if he arrived late and left early, he could probably keep the sympathy party to a minimum.</p><p class="western">Yeah. That might work. And who knows, perhaps next month he could try again. Ask one of the vampires, or something. He grinned and shook his head as he climbed up the stairs. No matter how friendly the Donners were, they really kept themselves to themselves. They might be alright with rushing over to save their witch from CO-poisoning; he could not expect them to sit around all night in an empty house while he ran laps across the fields outside.</p><p class="western">He’d think of something. It’d be alright. But right now… he knocked on the door. And tried not to laugh as he heard a muffled <em>god fucking damn it </em>before footsteps and the door opened to reveal a glowering Remington. ‘<em>What?’</em></p><p class="western">‘Well, hello to you too,’ Ash said, only a little taken aback. ‘Uhm. Everything alright?’</p><p class="western">‘No,’ Remington snapped, even though he stepped aside to let Ash in. ‘Not everything’s alright. Your blanket is testing me.’ He turned around and glared at something that, to Ash, looked like a very long green rope, with brightly colored plastic safety pins hanging off of it at regular intervals. ‘Any chance I can convince you to pick a different pattern? One that won’t give me the urge to set the entire thing on fire?’</p><p class="western">Ash hesitated. ‘Uhm…’</p><p class="western">‘Just kidding.’ Remington dragged a hand over his face. He looked tired and Ash once again repressed the urge to reach out and hug him. The witch looked like he needed it. ‘I’ll manage. I just forgot, first rows of this pattern are a nightmare but after that, it should be fine. Did you want something?’</p><p class="western">‘No,’ Ash said quickly, casting another doubtful look at the rope and wondering, not for the first time, how that was supposed to become a blanket. ‘Just… I came here to say I won’t be needing the house this week. Orla’s… something’s come up and she has to go to Brighton, so.’ He shrugged. ‘Guess it’s back to the pack for me.’</p><p class="western">With his back still turned, Remington stilled. ‘God fucking <em>damn </em>it.’</p><p class="western">That was not the reaction Ash had been expecting. ‘I’m sorry?’ he said, not used to Remington using such strong language. ‘It’s just, I don’t think it’s a good idea to shift and go running somewhere I’ve never been before without anyone to… you know. Call for help or something. Whatever. I mean, it’s fine, I’ll be fine, I’ll go back to my pack and the house is all yours, I mean, it <em>is </em>all yours anyway, I’m not claiming anything here, but I meant…’</p><p class="western">‘I’ll come with you.’</p><p class="western">Ash’ ramble immediately came to a screeching halt. ‘… I’m sorry?’</p><p class="western">‘I’ll come with you.’ Remington looked supremely unhappy with that statement, but the set of his jaw told Ash that it was no use trying to change his mind. ‘You’re right. You shouldn’t shift on your own and it <em>is </em>my house. So. I’ll come with you.’</p><p class="western">There were a hundred things Ash could say to that, most of them variations on the theme ‘are you sure’. But Remington was still looking at him, stubborn as ever and the secret, selfish part of Ash had to admit that the idea of having the witch there when he shifted was an attractive one. ‘Alright,’ he said, slowly. ‘Yes. OK. Of course. If… if you don’t mind.’</p><p class="western">The hard line of Remington’s jaw softened, almost imperceptibly. ‘It’s just that I can take a hint, is all,’ he said. Ash didn’t really understand but chose not to ask. ‘But just to be clear. I’m not running with you. I’ll go with you and I’ll stay in the house and then in the morning, I’ll drive you back here and we don’t… we don’t have to see each other in the meantime. At all.’</p><p class="western">Well, there went Ash’ vision of frolicking through the fields under the full moon with the witch by his side. He tried not to feel too disappointed about that and instead nodded with what he hoped was an understanding expression. ‘No, no. Of course. I get it.’ He did. Of course he did. ‘Thank you.’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah, sure,’ Remington grumbled, rolling his eyes. ‘Don’t mention it. Literally.’ He glared back at the green rope and then at Ashford. ‘Now. If you could please go back downstairs so I can try making a start on your blanket <em>again?’</em></p><p class="western">Ash nodded and beat a quick and tactful retreat downstairs. It wasn’t what he had expected, he was by no means sure it was a good idea and he would be lying if he didn’t feel a little giddy anyway.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">And that was how Ash found himself two days later, loading an air mattress, a pile of blankets and pillows, two folding chairs, a folding table and a bag of food enough to feed an entire orphanage into his van. Behind him, Remington carried a bag full of crochet supplies and a sour expression. The same sour expression he had been sporting for two days now, and the one, Ash suspected, would stay there until they came back.</p><p class="western">Well. He didn’t really mind. Because by now he knew Remington well enough not to take his outward moods at face value and instead, knew he had to look just a little closer. He knew Remington was probably a little pissed off, but mostly at himself. And he knew that Remington was mostly terrified.</p><p class="western">And he was coming with Ash anyway.</p><p class="western">Ash tried not to think too hard about that. Just in case he came to any realizations and did or said some things that Remington wasn’t ready for. Ash was pretty sure he had made his intentions clear; the ball was now entirely in the witch’s court.</p><p class="western">But still. The witch was coming with Ash anyway.</p><p class="western">Which was why Ash could not stop himself from smiling, even in the face of Remington’s downright murderous scowl. He smiled all through loading up the van and Remington’s grumbling about the ridiculous amount of food Ms. Nell had given them; he smiled as they drove off and Remington snapped at him for not waiting until he had his seatbelt done; he all but grinned when they got to the house and Remington complained about the fact that he was trailing mud all over the hallway.</p><p class="western">‘Isn’t that why the gnomes are here?’ Ash offered, trying not to laugh at the death glare Remington threw his way. He couldn’t help it. It was a full moon tonight, he was going to run as far and fast as he could, there was no sympathetic pack or condescending ex in sight and Remington was here and tonight was going to be good. It was going to be great.</p><p class="western">They loaded all the food in the ancient fridge. Remington produced a coffee machine and kettle Ash hadn’t realized he’d brought and set them both on the kitchen counter, losing some of his simmering rage for the first time. They set up the folding table and chairs and then sat down, quietly and a little awkwardly waiting for the moon to rise.</p><p class="western">‘Do you mind if I…’ Remington asked after a minute or so of silence. He gestured towards the box with his supplies standing near the door.</p><p class="western">‘Oh no,’ Ash said quickly. ‘No, I mean. It’s your house.’ He smiled. Remington grimaced, but got up and retrieved the box, setting it on the table. It seemed he had managed to figure something out after all, because it was looking a lot more like the start of a blanket than the green string Ash had seen earlier. At least there were ripples now, in various colors and Ash watched a little breathlessly as Remington carefully unfolded the fabric, took up a seemingly random ball of yarn and set to work.</p><p class="western">And really. If Ash hadn’t felt the wolf clawing under his skin and if he hadn’t felt the pull of the moon outside growing ever stronger, he would have been happy sitting there all night, watching nimble fingers manipulate the hook and yarn together until, seemingly out of nowhere, the blanket acquired another ripple, this time a deep, burnt orange the color of autumn leaves. The silence in the kitchen deepened, but it wasn’t awkward anymore; instead it was almost companionable, with Remington working and Ash sitting back and pretending not to be absolutely fascinated by what the witch was doing.</p><p class="western">As it was, however, he was growing increasingly restless. It wasn’t that late yet, but it was late enough in the year and outside, it had long gone dark. He almost did not want to leave, but when he tore his eyes away from the magic happening in front of him, he saw the first silver rays of moonlight shining down on the bare backyard. It was time.</p><p class="western">He stood up. Remington put his work down and watched him, all his earlier anger gone. Instead he almost looked sad. Almost as if he wished that Ash didn’t have to leave either. ‘Have fun,’ he said softly as Ash shrugged off his jacket and draped it over his chair. ‘I’ll leave the door open.’</p><p class="western">‘See you tomorrow,’ Ash said, just as softly, before he made his way out of the kitchen and into the utility room. There, he stripped out of the rest of his clothes, shivered a little in the cold air, and then opened the door to the backyard and stepped out into the moonlight.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">
  <em>The wolf runs through the night. He doesn’t know these fields, doesn’t know these woods. There’s houses here too, human houses and he doesn’t know those either. But that’s alright. This is as good a place to run as any and as long as he remembers where to find the scent of tea and iron, he will be fine. He will be able to make his way home.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>So he runs. It’s a good night, a cold night but dry and the sky overhead is clear as ice. His breath comes out in puffs of smoke and the frosted grass crunches under his feet as he goes, then further away and then doubling back because he cannot go too far. Not yet. Not in this place he does not know.</em>
</p><p class="western"><em>He catches a rabbit and eats it. It’s a little skinny and a little tough, but it is sweet on his tongue and he devours it all but whole. Then he runs again, flying through the fields as fast as he can </em>because<em> he </em>can. <em>The wolf hasn’t run for days, doesn’t really understand why he doesn’t get to run as often as before and now there is space all around him, fields and woods to run until his legs are sore and his breath catches in his throat. He lies down then, catching his breath with his tongue hanging out. The air is sharp and it burns in his lungs but he doesn’t mind. He feels good. He is free and there is nothing here that can hurt him. There is only him and the fields and the woods and the moon and the sky and…</em></p><p class="western">… <em>and the witch.</em></p><p class="western">
  <em>He catches a scent. Raises his head, confused. He isn’t that far from the house he set out from and the scent of tea and iron is here, thin but present. But there is something else too, and he is not sure what it is. A feeling almost, and not a good one.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>The wolf whines softly. The feeling grows stronger for a moment, then fades again and the wolf knows what to do.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>He gets up, a little stiffly, and sets off into the night again. Heading home.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Remington had known from the start that accompanying the werewolf during the full moon was a supremely bad idea. Stupid. Moronic. Idiotic. A surefire way to spend the night fending off one panic attack after the other and the <em>best </em>way to convince Ashford that he should stay the hell away from this witch and all his assorted issues.</p><p class="western">Sitting in the silent kitchen together had not helped. Not even when Remington had taken out his crochet project, because if Ashford had not been looking at him before, he now certainly was and that did not improve Remington’s nerves in the slightest. This night was going to be a disaster and he knew it.</p><p class="western">But then the moon rose. And Ashford got up and went outside and Remington, feeling for some reason like something special was about to come to an end, had wished him a fun time. The door to the utility room closed and Remington could not help himself; he stared at it, wishing, for the first time, that things might be different. That he might be a witch who could go outside and run with his friend. That he might not be such a coward, such a disappointment because yes, he had noticed Ashford’s face fall, just a little, when he told the werewolf that he would stay inside.</p><p class="western">That he might get over himself, just this once.</p><p class="western">He shook his head. You ‘got over’ things like getting the wrong color bicycle for your tenth birthday. You did not ‘get over’ being chased through the woods like a prey animal every other month. For starters. Going there would not help and it would only make him feel worse. And he felt pretty bad already.</p><p class="western">There was nothing else for it. The fact that he was here at all, was something at least, and he could only hope Ashford knew that. He breathed out and turned back to his crocheting when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He stopped.</p><p class="western">And almost swore, because for some reason, he had not realized that the kitchen window overlooked the small, terraced area outside the backdoor. The very same area where Ashford now stood, naked as the day he was born, face turned up and catching the moonlight until he almost glowed silver. And then he grinned.</p><p class="western">That was the point Remington almost looked away, but for some reason, he couldn’t seem to move. Ashford’s grin stretched, his teeth growing long and sharp, his face elongating, eyes growing huge and round. His cropped hair grew longer and spread over his face, his shoulders, his chest, further down until he was gone and in his place stood the largest wolf Remington had ever seen. Silvery-grey fur rippled as the wolf stretched, first his front legs and then his hind legs, not unlike a dog that has just woken up. The sight made something ache in Remington’s chest, something sharp and old and almost-forgotten. Then the wolf lifted his head up again, sniffing. Searching. It stood still for a moment and Remington begged it silently not to turn around. Not to catch him looking like this.</p><p class="western">And then the wolf was gone. One powerful jump and he was halfway down the backyard, another and he had vanished from view, running off into the darkness. Remington blew out a breath and slumped back into his chair. His heart was rabbiting in his chest and his throat felt tight and his eyes were burning and this did not feel like a panic attack, but it did not feel right either. He reached for his crochet hook and dropped it. The sound of metal on tiles sounded like gunfire and he scrambled to pick it up, banging his head against the folding table in the process. He dropped the hook on the table again and noticed, distantly, that his hands were shaking.</p><p class="western">He closed his eyes and slumped forward, resting his head on the soft merino of the blanket in progress. This was going to be a long night.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">It was a long night. Over an hour, he managed to complete half of a new row on Ashford’s blanket before he realized that it was no use. His hands would not stop shaking, his vision kept swimming and breathing also was not the easy, fun, almost automated process it usually was.</p><p class="western">And yet, the weird thing was, that he didn’t feel scared. It had actually been a while since he had had a full-blown attack, and not even Ashford moving into Willow’s Close had set him off even once. But he remembered them vividly and aside from all the physical symptoms, the sheer terror that he had been used to, was not there this time. He rubbed his eyes, frowning and blinking into the harsh light of the one lamp the kitchen possessed. He would have to put that on the list, he thought. Check lights in every room. It’d probably cost money, too.</p><p class="western">He groaned and sat back against the wall. ‘Hey.’</p><p class="western">Quiet. And then worry, with a question mark at the end of it.</p><p class="western">‘Yeah. I know. Not feeling too great.’</p><p class="western">The worry deepened. It pulled on him and he smiled a little. ‘No. It’s not his fault. Well. Not <em>really </em>his fault. It’s just me.’ He sighed. ‘It’s just me.’</p><p class="western">He sat back up. Checked his phone and saw that it had just one past 9pm, which was late enough to justify going to bed. With any luck, this weird not-panic attack would let off a little and he’d actually manage to get some sleep, or else this was going to be a <em>very </em>long night.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">He tossed and turned for about an hour, not helped in the slightest by the fact that the air mattress bounced with his every move. Eventually, however, he drifted off. Into a sleep that must have been dreamless, because when he woke up again, there was no recollection. No nightmare, no howling, no snapping and snarling and running in fear for his life. Instead, he felt almost calm. He certainly did not feel as worked up as he had been earlier. He lay still for a moment, listening to the house settling around him. Every house had its own noises at night, and this one was no different; there was a muted scrabbling upstairs that he hoped were the gnomes and not mice; the gurgling and sputtering of a heating system not used to being turned on; the distant howling of a wolf out in the countryside.</p><p class="western">Ah. Right. The wolf. That woke him up good and fast. He sat up, his air mattress dipping beneath him until he all but hit the floor. Ashford was outside, Ashford the wolf and Remington, once again, felt that he should panic but couldn’t. He grasped for his phone, reaching blindly across the floor until it lit up and he saw the time. It had just gone an hour after midnight.</p><p class="western">Remington stilled. The air in the room was cold, because he’d forgotten to turn the radiator on, and he shivered. But his breathing was calm and even the thought of Ashford, Ashford the wolf, did not bring back the tension from before. Silver-white moonlight streamed through the tiny bedroom window and this time when Remington’s eyes started burning and his vision blurred, he thought he finally understood what was going on.</p><p class="western">He wasn’t scared. At all. And that was what scared him.</p><p class="western">There was something else there, too. Something that looked suspiciously like grief. It hurt, at least, and it sat sharp and cold and heavy underneath Remington’s ribcage. He wasn’t sure where that came from at first. Although it might have something to do with the fact that he was a witch, and this was the first full moon in his almost thirty years of life that there was a wolf, a member of his pack, outside who did not want to hurt him.</p><p class="western">He gritted his teeth as a vicious stab of <em>something</em> shot through him. Yeah. He might be on to something there.</p><p class="western">Outside, the wolf howled a second time. Remington swallowed and closed his eyes, leaned his head against the wall. The worry was there again, even thicker than before but he didn’t have it in him to say anything. Instead he just sat, counting his breaths quietly in the darkness. Minutes ticked by, the wolf stopped howling and slowly but surely, the raw hurt inside his chest faded until a dull ache. It didn’t go away entirely and he figured that it would take a while for it to disappear, but at least he could breathe a little more freely without fearing that he would disintegrate.</p><p class="western">He shivered again, distantly noting the goosebumps forming on his arms. He wasn’t wearing pajamas; it seemed silly to pack those for just one night and he’d figured he’d get by in just the pile of blankets and a pair of sweatpants. He was kind of regretting that decision now as another draft of frigid air hit him. He was definitely going to look into insulating those windows.</p><p class="western">And then the house nudged him. Or at least, one moment he was sitting on his air mattress and the next he was lying on the floor in a tangle of blankets, staring up at the window above him.</p><p class="western">‘What the hell?’ he muttered. He tried to free himself from his blanket prison, failed, only got himself more entangled, gave up and slumped to the floor.</p><p class="western">There was another bump. From beneath him this time. He shot up, falling back onto his mattress and finally managed to get one blanket off. The others soon followed and he sat, frowning and incredulous. ‘Alright. What’s up?’</p><p class="western">This time, when the wall gave him a shove, he was prepared and shoved back. ‘No. No way.’</p><p class="western">For a second, everything was quiet. Remington sat and glared at the wall, daring it to push him off again. Nothing happened</p><p class="western">And then the bedroom window opened and a blast of icy air blew into the room.</p><p class="western">‘Oh my fucking… you have got to be fucking <em>kidding </em>me.’ Remington dragged a hand over his face and pulled the blankets up to his chest. ‘<em>Not. Cool.’</em></p><p class="western">The house did not respond. The window remained open. The night was silent; the wolf had stopped howling.</p><p class="western">‘Alright.’ Remington let out a breath. It came out as a cloud in the freezing cold. ‘Alright. You win.’ He let go of the blanket and rubbed his eyes before gingerly stretching his legs and setting them on the floor. He immediately regretted this decision and only the memory of the window blasting open out of nowhere stopped him from turning around and crawling back under the blankets. Instead he located his socks, his sweater and his shoes and pulled them on, with shaking hands that wasn’t entirely due to the glacial temperature in the room. At last, he took a deep breath, took up one of the blankets just because he could, and made his way into the hallway. It felt infinitely warmer there and he almost gave up right then and there.</p><p class="western">But by now, it wasn’t just the house that wanted him to go outside. There was something pulling inside him, buried beneath the fear and the grief and the sheer amount of stubbornness. Something that reminded him that no, the full moon wasn’t just there for the wolves. It wasn’t a coincidence that his bond with the house was so powerful tonight that it could physically kick him out of bed. And he might not transform into a big hairy monster, but that didn’t mean that sitting outside and soaking up the moonlight would be a bad idea. If only for a minute.</p><p class="western">As he shuffled down the hallway, blanket draped over his shoulders like a low-budget medieval king, he steadfastly ignored that other pull. The one that had to do with a lone wolf howling and kind dark eyes and grey fur that rippled silver in the moonlight. Because that had nothing to do with why he was here, opening the backdoor and bracing himself once again against the cold. Or why he had taken a chair from the kitchen on the way, and why he was now folding it out and setting it down on the barren wasteland that was his backyard. Or why he then sat there, wrapped in his blanket, eyes closed and carefully breathing in and out for a long moment and repressing the urge to give up and bolt back inside, where it was safe and marginally warmer.</p><p class="western">But that was the thing. He <em>was </em>safe outside. That was the thing, the problem, the issue, the one concept he could not get his head around even though he knew, he <em>knew </em>that he could walk around safely, outside, during a full moon, with a wolf roaming the countryside around him and he would be perfectly alright.</p><p class="western">Breathing was getting difficult again and his cheeks were getting cold. He sat up and opened his eyes. Blinked once, twice. And then he saw the wolf.</p><p class="western">The wolf was standing at the other end of the backyard, a ghostly grey shape in the darkness. Remington stopped breathing. His hands gripped tightly at the blanket as all his muscles tensed, ready to flee.</p><p class="western">The wolf didn’t move. He didn’t come running into the backyard. He didn’t run off. He just stood there. Watching. Remington couldn’t see his eyes at this distance, but he knew. The wolf was watching.</p><p class="western">For a long moment, minutes even, both wolf and witch held perfectly still. It seemed even the moon overhead held her breath and then, very slowly, the wolf lowered himself to the ground and lay down, still not breaking eye contact</p><p class="western">Remington sagged forward, all his tension leaving him at once. He gasped for breath, once, twice and then shook his head, swallowing sharply. ‘No,’ he managed, his voice hoarse and loud in the quiet. ‘No. I mean. Please.’</p><p class="western">He didn’t even know what he meant, or what he wanted to say. All he knew was that it hurt, and it hurt to see the wolf and it hurt to see that the wolf made himself so small because the wolf thought he was so afraid and it hurt that the wolf wasn’t even wrong. He wiped his eyes and swallowed again, although the glass in his throat was apparently there to stay. And when he looked back at the wolf, he almost laughed. Because the wolf had gotten up and was now making its way, slowly, carefully, watching Remington all the way, across the backyard. Inching closer, still holding his head and tail low as if approaching a skittish fawn. Remington sat, watching, unblinking as the wolf crept closer until he was about three feet away and stopped, tilting his head in a silent question.</p><p class="western">Remington nodded. He couldn’t have said a word if he’d wanted to.</p><p class="western">The wolf moved forward again. One step, two, three and then he lowered himself to the ground again at Remington’s feet. He huffed a sigh and closed his eyes, looking for all the world like a very contented and very big dog.</p><p class="western">Remington breathed in. And out. And sat back as his heartrate slowly settled. He let his head fall back and stared up at the sky for a moment, no longer caring about the wetness on his cheeks. Then he sat up and looked down, and for the first time, he smiled. Or perhaps it was more of a grimace, but it was something, at least. Something settled. Something fell into place after a long night of wobbling and a tension that had been there for a very long time finally loosened, and more than a little.</p><p class="western">‘Alright,’ he said, his voice a rasp. The wolf looked up and Remington’s heart ached. ‘Hey.’</p><p class="western">The wolf lifted his head and made a soft, whining noise. And even in wolf form, the eyes were dark and kind and unmistakably Ashford’s and Remington felt himself relax even more. ‘Yeah. I know. Sorry about all that.’</p><p class="western">Now the wolf moved, shifting his legs as if he was about to stand up. Remington, tensing again, held up a hand. ‘No. No, don’t… could you stay there? Please. Just. Don’t move yet.’</p><p class="western">The wolf sat back down and Remington breathed out. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘Baby steps. Or something.’</p><p class="western">The wolf whined softly. To Remington, it sounded amused. He huffed a laugh. ‘Yeah. Sure. Har har, laugh at the scaredy cat witch.’</p><p class="western">The wolf whined again. Remington shook his head. ‘Yeah. I know, you didn’t mean it like that. It’s alright.’</p><p class="western">For a long moment, the night was quiet. Then Remington looked down again. ‘Did you… did you have a good run?’</p><p class="western">Surprised, the wolf looked up. He nodded slowly, his tongue lolling out as his mouth split open into a sharp-toothed grin. Remington nodded too, trying for a smile of his own and almost succeeding. ‘Good. I’m… I’m glad. Do you…’ He paused and pulled his trusted blanket closer. It was doing nothing against the chill anymore and it was getting harder and harder to suppress his shivers. ‘Do you… do you want to come inside?’</p><p class="western">They hadn’t talked about this. The assumption had been that Remington would stay inside, and Ashford would stay outside until it was time to shift back and then that would be that. But they were thoroughly in new territory now, both literally and metaphorically and to Remington, leaving the wolf outside on his own just did not feel right anymore.</p><p class="western">‘It’s OK,’ he said softly, when the wolf stared at him. ‘I mean. I know there’s only one mattress and that’s mine but there’s a lot of blankets and you can have some of those. If you want to.’ He swallowed. ‘I promise… I’ll try not to freak out again.’</p><p class="western">Nothing happened. And then the wolf, ever so slowly, stood up and brushed his nose against Remington’s leg underneath the blanket, so lightly that he almost did not feel it. It was there for half a second, the slightest pressure and then it was gone, just as the wolf was, trotting through the backdoor and disappearing into the darkness of the house. Remington sat still for a moment, suppressing the urge to reach out and touch the spot the wolf had touched him. Then, at long last, he got up. Stretched the stiffness and cold out of his limbs, took up his blanket and went back inside.</p><p class="western">When he got to the room where he’d set up the air mattress, he stopped in the doorway and shook his head. At any other time, he would have laughed, but as it was, he just stood and stared at the wolf, the size of a small pony, curled up in the corner on a nest made out of all of Remington’s blankets, except the one hanging off his shoulders. He was already very fast asleep, his silvery flanks rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing.</p><p class="western">‘Well,’ Remington muttered, closing the door carefully behind him. ‘I did suppose I said you could have the blankets.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Fortunately, sharing a small room with a large, adult male wolf means that cold is not really an issue. It wasn’t long before Remington, still a little bit wobbly on his air mattress and with the one blanket pulled up to his chin, was able to close his eyes and sink into a deep and dreamless sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">When Ash woke up that morning, it took him a moment to figure out where he was, and why everything around him smelled of witch. Not that he was complaining; it was just a little unexpected.</p><p class="western">Then he shifted, and behind him something shifted as well with a strange plastic-y noise and realization dawned. Along with a healthy dose of <em>what the fuck just happened last night</em>. Because something <em>had </em>happened and it had been significant, he was sure of that. Because whatever he had expected to happen last night, it had not been Remington having something close to a mental breakdown and yet, still, trusting him enough to invite him back into the house to sleep off the run.</p><p class="western">He blinked and rubbed his eyes. That was a lot to think about on just a couple hours of sleep. Sure enough, his head was already pounding the way it usually did after the full moon. So instead of staying inside his blanket nest and possibly traumatizing Remington even further when he woke up and saw that the wolf from last night was now a very large and very naked man, Ash decided to get up and go see what the shower in this house was like.</p><p class="western">The answer turned out to be, not very great. It was clear that the bathroom had been modelled around two people of average height, and not for werewolves over six feet tall. Also the shower pressure reminded him more of slowly seeping ditch, rather than a powerful current. But it was hot, at least, and he managed to scrub himself more or less clean. It was just to wake up, in any case; he could wait until they were back home to get into any nooks and crannies he couldn’t reach right now. But he did make a mental note to mention the word ‘raindrop showerhead’ to Remington. That might come in useful next time.</p><p class="western">If there was going to be a next time at all. Because after last night, Ash wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t been sure about what to expect going to the house with Remington during the full moon in the first place, but it had not been seeing the witch, sitting outside huddled in a blanket and looking to all the world like he was having a full-blown panic attack. If Ash could have shifted right then and there, he would have done so; everything was better than seeing and smelling Remington so terrified.</p><p class="western">But something had shifted, too. There had been fear and then the fear had gone and been replaced by something that was almost trust. As Ash toweled himself dry and pulled on his sweatpants and t-shirt in the miniature bathroom, he wondered. He didn’t dare hope, not just yet, but he did wonder.</p><p class="western">And he kept wondering as he made his way back to the bedroom to get his toothbrush, which he’d forgotten to bring with him into the bathroom. Rabbit breath was <em>vile.</em> But he forgot all about bad breath and toothbrushes when he got to the door and saw Remington, hair sticking every which way and a familiar scowl on his face, arguing with the window.</p><p class="western">‘Well you didn’t have any trouble opening last night,’ Remington snapped. His back was turned so he didn’t see Ash, and he was struggling with the latch, pushing and pulling but it did not seem to have any effect. ‘So. This room is hot as hell and it <em>reeks </em>of wolf. For your sake and mine, just <em>open. Up.’</em></p><p class="western">‘And good morning to you too,’ Ash said dryly, trying not to laugh as Remington spun around. Remington stared at Ash wide-eyed for a moment and then, to Ash’ great surprise, crossed the room in two big strides, wrapped his arms around Ash’ waist, pressed his face into Ash’ shoulder and stayed there.</p><p class="western">‘Oh.’ Ash could not have been more surprised if Remington had grabbed him and shoved his tongue down his throat. It took only a brief internal struggle, but he repressed the instinctive urge to return the hug tenfold and squeeze Remington tight, the way he had wanted to do ever since they had gotten to the house the night before. Or even before that, but that did not matter now. All that mattered was that he carefully wrapped his own arms around the witch, holding him in a loose embrace. ‘Hey,’ he muttered when Remington chose to stay quiet. ‘Uhm. Are you OK?’</p><p class="western">There was a movement at his shoulder that he took to be a nod. Dark hair and the scent of tea and iron tickled in his nose and he smiled. ‘Good.’ He paused, picking his words carefully. ‘You, ah. You’re going through some stuff, aren’t you?’</p><p class="western">Another nod. Ash risked tightening his hold and pulling the witch in, just a little bit. ‘That’s alright,’ he told the top of Remington’s ear. ‘That’s alright.’ He held still for a moment, feeling Remington grow boneless against him. He had finally recognized the almost palpable relief for what it was and his heart ached for this brave, grumpy man who had been so scared and who was here now anyway. ‘Hey,’ he said again, into the dark and slightly sweaty mop of hair. ‘You did know I’d turn back right?’</p><p class="western">That got him a huff and a glare as Remington looked up for the first time. ‘Yes. I’m not an idiot.’</p><p class="western">‘Good,’ Ash said cheerfully, trying not to feel both disappointed and relieved when Remington stepped back. ‘Just checking.’</p><p class="western">‘I just…’ Remington dragged a hand over his face and the glare disappeared, making place for something far more vulnerable. Something that made Ash want to step forward, reach out, grab the witch and not let go again. ‘I’m sorry. Like you said. Going through stuff.’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded. ‘Yeah. I got that,’ he said softly. He thought for a moment and smiled. ‘Hey. I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we…’ He paused, not sure how good this idea really was, but continued anyway: ‘Why don’t we stay here for the day? I mean, we could go back home but I was only going to sleep through the rest of the day anyway and, you know. There’s a bed right there.’</p><p class="western">Remington blinked at him. Ash went on: ‘And you can stay here and get yourself back together, or, or talk to the house a bit more, or see if there’s anything else you might want to do or, or, I don’t know. I thought it might be nice. To stay here for a bit.’ He did not say that Remington seemed more relaxed in this house than he’d ever seen him at Willow’s Close, or that it might help to sort out your feelings in a place where ghosts did not come floating through the walls at inopportune moments. He just stood and smiled and tried not to look too visibly relieved when Remington gave a slow nod. ‘That… that’s actually not a bad idea. I could… I could work on your blanket a little bit more, I guess. Uhm. Yeah. Alright.’</p><p class="western">He gave Ash a tentative smile and Ash felt his stomach flip. He swallowed and grinned back, then turned around so he would not accidentally try and go for another witch hug. ‘Alright. But first, let’s go find some breakfast.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">The rest of the morning was quiet. After wolfing down a plate of sandwiches and half a liter of orange juice, Ash did indeed make himself comfortable on the air mattress (‘good luck with that,’ Remington sniffed) and went back to sleep. The mattress smelled of plastic and Remington and the air in the room, despite Remington finally managing to open the window, still was heavy with the scent of wolf, but Ash didn’t mind. He slept all through the morning, only waking a couple of times to check the time and go for a bathroom break. He didn’t see Remington, but that was alright too; the house around him was quiet and felt peaceful and by now, Ash suspected that he would be notified if anything was amiss. So he ambled back to the bedroom, yawning and rubbing his eyes, struggled only a little with the air mattress and once again, drifted off to sleep.</p><p class="western">When he finally woke up for real, it was well past noon. He contemplated briefly to go for another shower, but decided against it when his stomach gave a vicious growl. Food it was then, and who knew. Depending on how far Remington had come in the meantime, they might be heading back at Willow’s Close afterwards.</p><p class="western">Not that Ash would mind staying here a bit longer. Despite the fact that the house was empty, it did not feel bare. It felt like a home, if a home had all its furniture temporarily misplaced. Power, he thought, and smiled. A peculiar power, true. But power nonetheless.</p><p class="western">When he got to the kitchen, however, there was still no sign of the witch. There was a note, however, hastily scribbled on a piece of paper left on the folding table.</p><p class="western">
  <em>Left at 12.30pm. Will be back in an hour. Rem.</em>
</p><p class="western">Ash checked the time and sure enough, it was a quarter past one. So instead of worrying or turning the house upside down, he took out the remaining sandwiches from the fridge and sat down to a belated lunch. He had all but finished them when he heard the front door open and close and a waft of tea and iron entered the kitchen, shortly after followed by Remington himself. He stopped in the doorway and smiled when he saw Ash. ‘Hey. You’re back from the dead.’</p><p class="western">Ash grinned. It seemed he had made the right call; Remington had lost all tension from the night before and was looking as relaxed as Ash had ever seen him. ‘Yeah. You know, that air mattress was actually pretty comfortable, once you get the hang of it.’</p><p class="western">Remington rolled his eyes. ‘Sure. If you say so.’ He made his way over to the kitchen counter and poured himself a cup of the coffee Ash had just made. ‘Next time, I’m bringing a real mattress.’</p><p class="western">Next time. Ash heard it loud and clear and a small part of him started cheering. ‘You mean next month?’ he asked, sitting back in his chair. ‘Yeah. You could. Or we could make a start on the bedroom first, and then maybe it’ll be ready in time and you can put a proper bed in there.’</p><p class="western">He knew it wasn’t very realistic, to think that even one room would have its window insulated, its floor renewed and its walls painted within four weeks, in December. But it was a nice thought, and sure enough, Remington’s mouth quirked in a smile as he stood against the counter and sipped his coffee. ‘That’d be nice.’</p><p class="western">‘Where did you go?’ Ashford asked as the silence dragged on. It wasn’t an awkward silence that needed breaking, but he was curious. Remington drained the last of his coffee and once again, Ash was struck by how relaxed, how almost <em>happy </em>he looked. Sure, there were dark circles under his eyes and he looked a little rumpled, but it was still miles away from the shivering heap he’d been last night, or the tense figure that had launched himself at Ash this morning. ‘Don’t tell me you went for a run yourself.’</p><p class="western">Remington shook his head, glaring at Ash with no real heat behind it. ‘No. Not much for running. I, ah.’ He dragged a hand through his hair and his expression softened. ‘I went into town. Thought it might be a good idea to meet some neighbors. And since it’s a small town, I thought doing a few laps around the local grocery store would do the trick. And it did.’ He grinned when Ashford gaped at him. ‘You, ah. You might want to tone down the howling next time, though. Heard some people talking. Apparently, this is not wolf country and you got some of them a bit worried.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh.’ Ash had not thought about that. ‘Crap. Yeah. Alright. Sure. Uhm. They didn’t ask you…?’</p><p class="western">‘Nah.’ Now Remington’s grin turned ever so slightly evil. ‘They didn’t ask. But just to be sure, I told them I had a husky that was a bit nervous about being outside the city for the first time. That seemed to work.’ He waited, still looking smug, as Ash threw back his head and laughed. ‘But seriously,’ he said when Ash wiped his eyes. He crossed his arms, a little bit of tension seeping back into his posture. ‘If you… if you want to, I can make the house soundproof, at least. And I’m not sure about the backyard, but I’m willing to give it a try. If there’s a full moon, I think I could manage it. I mean. It’s part of the house, isn’t it? Even though it’s outside.’ He looked a little unsure at Ash, who had to fight to stay seated and not get up and hug him. ‘No promises, you understand?’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded carefully. ‘Yeah. I… I get it. Uhm. Thanks. That’s… I mean, even if the backyard doesn’t work, I can still… yeah. Thank you.’</p><p class="western">Remington smiled and relaxed a little again. ‘It’s alright. Can’t have a full moon without howling wolves now, can we.’ His mouth twisted a little at that and not for the first time, Ash was seized with the urge to get in his van, drive up to Northby and kick the seven colors out of everyone who had hurt his witch. ‘No, he said slowly. ‘No, we can’t have that.’</p><p class="western">The kitchen fell quiet again. Remington rinsed his cup under the tap and set it on the counter to dry, while Ash finished the last of his lunch. After that, it was silently agreed that it was about time to head back to Willow’s Close, so they started loading the much-maligned air mattress, the pile of blankets and pillows and Remington’s crochet supplies back into the van. Ash could not help but notice how much the blanket had grown since he’d last seen it, and he also could not help reaching out and touching it, just for a moment, before handing it over to Remington.</p><p class="western">‘Looks good,’ he said, and it did. The colors were even more vibrant than they had been in the picture and it felt incredibly soft, like the down on a cub’s belly. Remington gently took it from him and folded it up inside the box, on top of the balls of yarn. ‘Almost done,’ he said, a little curtly. ‘Just some finishing touches.’ He let out a breath and turned to Ash. ‘Just… just needs a bit more time.’</p><p class="western">And Ash might not have been the brightest bulb in the bunch, but this, this he understood. He nodded. ‘That’s OK,’ he said easily. ‘Take all the time you need. I can wait.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">Later that afternoon, after they got back to Willow’s Close, the first thing that Ash did was water his plants and check them for bugs. The second thing he did was call his boss. It took a little negotiating and Ash wasn’t very good at that, but he managed and in exchange for one free weekend, he got Remington new double glazed windows and freshly painted window frames within three weeks. Ash would have given up a lot more to let Remington have a proper bedroom by the next full moon, but as it was, it was a pretty fair deal. Especially since he suspected that he was going to be the one painting the window frames in the first place.</p><p class="western">Ringing off after that phone call, he looked outside and smiled. The light was fading and the last rays of sunlight were pooling together in his backyard. It already looked miles better than it had when he first came here; most of the plants were in the ground now and even though most of them were still bare, come spring, it would be a genuine green oasis. The fence at the back made sure that no more rubble found its way inside, and made the place feel secluded and safe. It looked good and when Ash got around to putting in the little solar powered lamps that were sitting against his kitchen counter, it would look even better. He would do that tomorrow, he decided as he headed for the doorway to go up to Nell’s flat. He smiled a little wistfully at the tiny Aloe plant sitting on a side table next to the door. It seemed like it wasn’t just Remington’s place that was slowly coming together, after all.</p><p class="western">And if things needed just a little more time to really fall into place, well. Ash had all the patience in the world.</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">‘You alright, dear?’ was the first thing Nell asked Remington when he got to her flat. ‘After last night, I mean.’</p><p class="western">Ashford hadn’t come up yet, so Remington decided on honesty for once. ‘Yeah. It was… a little rough. But I’m OK,’ he said.</p><p class="western">‘Good.’ Apparently that was all Nell needed. ‘I’m glad you and that boy are getting along a little better. He’s been helping you, hasn’t he?’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded, trying not to think back to that morning. To a relief so overwhelming he’d lost track for just a moment, only to find himself back into strong arms that held him so gently, as if he were something fragile and precious, something that would splinter into pieces under too much pressure. ‘Yeah. He sure has.’ He smiled. ‘Scared the neighbors, though. They didn’t appreciate the howling all that much.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh dear.’ Nell shook her head and tutted. ‘Poor boy. He’ll have to think about that next time.’</p><p class="western">‘Nah.’ Remington pulled out a chair and sat down, nodding at Pearl who had followed their conversation with extreme disinterest. ‘He’ll be fine. I’ll figure something out for him.’ <em>Can’t have a full moon without howling now, can we. </em>He tried not to shudder. ‘What’s for dinner?’</p><p class="western">‘Vegan chili,’ Mr. Donner announced, coming in from the kitchen. He was armed with a large spatula and an even larger oven mitt. Remington decided not to point out that he was looking a little ridiculous, although he did see the snigger Pearl wasn’t even trying to hide. ‘I figured we could give our werewolf something hearty after a night of running about the countryside. Ah. Hello, Mr. Ashford.’</p><p class="western">‘Sounds good,’ Ashford said, coming into the flat. Remington’s stomach flipped and he didn’t even feel annoyed at that anymore. ‘Thanks, Mr. Donner.’</p><p class="western">‘Not a problem,’ the vampire said with a toothy grin. ‘And do not worry, Miss Pearl. I have some ghost peppers for you as well.’</p><p class="western">‘Thanks love,’ Pearl said, taking the bowl with bright red peppers from him. ‘Appreciate it.’</p><p class="western">‘Any news from Orla?’ Ashford asked as he sat down and Mr. Donner handed him a bowl. ‘It’s been a few days.’</p><p class="western">Nell shook her head and Remington felt a twinge of worry. He’d expected some sort of message from Orla by now, either good or bad. ‘You still don’t think one of us should go down there and see?’ he asked, taking a bite of chili. It was a bit on the spicy side, but it was good, as it always was when Mr. Donner personally oversaw the cooking. ‘I could go. I’d be happy to.’</p><p class="western">‘Me too,’ Ashford said, sharing Remington’s look of concern. ‘No problem at all.’</p><p class="western">But Nell shook her head again. ‘No. You know she’s been very specific about that. This is selkie business, and unless she calls us and explicitly asks one of us to come and help her, we should stay here. All of us,’ she added with a sharp look at Pearl. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice you stretching your wings last night. Had a good flight to the coast, did you?’</p><p class="western">Pearl took a bite of ghost pepper and chewed it thoughtfully. ‘No idea what you’re talking about.’</p><p class="western">‘Well, wherever Miss Orla is,’ Beau chimed in, drifting in from the wall to the hallway, ‘we should trust in her and her sister’s capacity to…’</p><p class="western">The phone rang. The room fell silent.</p><p class="western">Nell stood up. She navigated her way through the side tables to the other end of the room. The phone rang again. ‘Yes? Hello? Oh, hello, Orla, dear. We were just…’</p><p class="western">Silence. Remington looked at Ashford again. The werewolf was frowning, probably trying to pick up the other end of the conversation and having no luck. Pearl nudged him and Ashford shook his head, looking troubled. ‘A lot of crying,’ he muttered. ‘Can’t make out anything else.’</p><p class="western">‘Neither can I,’ Mr. Donner added quietly. ‘But if this goes bad…’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded. If this lead fell through, after two years of non-stop searching, he wasn’t sure how Orla was going to pick up the pieces, or even if she’d be able to. Even Beau looked grim and the longer the silence stretched, the worse Remington felt.</p><p class="western">Then, at last, Nell blew out a breath at the same time Ashford and Mr. Donner both sagged forward. ‘Oh, Orla, dear, that’s wonderful!’ Nell said, quickly taking off her glasses. ‘Oh, dear. We are all so happy for you!’</p><p class="western">‘She’s found it,’ Mr. Donner said, rather redundantly. His voice sounded rough and for the first time ever, Remington saw a vampire trying to hold back tears. ‘It, ah. Seems she was not the only victim she has taken the time to deliver each and every coat this rascal took to its rightful owner before informing us. I suppose we could forgive her for keeping us in the dark, then.’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded, throat too tight and heart too full to do or say anything else. Pearl had gone over to the sofa to hug Nell, who had rung off and was now openly sobbing; Beau also tried to help, but, being a ghost, his patting of Nell’s back was rather ineffective. And as for Ashford… Remington looked over and wished he hadn’t. The werewolf had all but collapsed on to the table and was now hiding his face in his arms. His shoulders weren’t shaking but even Remington could hear the sniffling going on inside and there was a brief but intense internal struggle before he got up and took the seat next to Ashford, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. He held still for a moment, debating whether or not to say anything, when Ashford, reaching out blindly, grabbed his other hand and held on tight.</p><p class="western">Well. Remington could do that. He squeezed back, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply, letting the relief crash over him like a wave. Everything was quiet for a moment, except for Nell’s crying, and then Mr. Donner rapped on the table. ‘I think,’ he said, when everyone looked up, ‘that this calls for a celebration. Who will go down to the store and get us something to drink?’</p><p class="western">Remington cleared his throat. ‘I’ll go,’ he said, ignoring Ashford’s muffled protest when he pulled his hand away. ‘I’ll be right back.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">It took him no time at all to load up a basket full of champagne, beer and strong liquor. The clerk looked at him a bit oddly, given that it was just another Wednesday, but Remington didn’t care. He all but ran back to Willow’s Close, taking the steps to Nell’s flat two at a time and opened the door to a much more celebratory atmosphere than the one he’d left. Nell was smiling and animatedly listening to Pearl telling her about how she hoped Orla had given the guy a good ass-kicking; Beau was nodding along and adding his own comments about long-dead rascals and rakes and Mr. Donner had retreated back to the kitchen. The flat had filled with the smell of cinnamon and sugar, which Remington took to mean that something sweet and celebratory was being hastily prepared. Even Ashford, although still a little red-rimmed around the eyes, smiled when he saw the bounty Remington was carrying. ‘Oh, you got the <em>good </em>beer!’</p><p class="western">‘I do know some things,’ Remington replied, handing him a bottle. He didn’t say he had seen this particular brand on Ashford’s counter last time he visited, because then he’d have to explain why he remembered that and now was most definitely not the time. ‘Got champagne too. Nell, do you have any glasses?’</p><p class="western">There was a flurry of activity and at the end of it, Pearl, Remington and Nell were holding a champagne glass, Ashford had his beer bottle and Mr. Donner held up a shot of vodka since he couldn’t be sure the champagne Remington had brought was vegan. ‘To Orla,’ Nell said, sniffing only a little.</p><p class="western">‘To Orla,’ they echoed. Remington sipped his champagne and took up position next to Ashford as they all retreated to the sofa, Mr. Donner’s chili standing lonely and forgotten on the table. Soon after, the oven timer dinged and the vampire entered the kitchen, only to reappear a moment later with a steaming plate full of apple crumble. ‘It seemed more festive,’ he explained as he went around handing out plates and scooping them full of piping hot slices of apple under a golden-brown crust. ‘The chili will keep.’</p><p class="western">And Remington sat on the sofa, with a werewolf by his side, sipping champagne and blowing on boiling hot apple and he couldn’t help but smile. ‘Pack,’ he muttered, just not softly enough for Ashford’s sharp ears. He looked at Remington, surprised, but then smiled back and leaned into him, ever so slightly. ‘Pack,’ Ashford repeated under his breath, so only Remington could hear. ‘Damn right.’</p><p class="western">Then Pearl looked at him with a sharp expression. ‘And what about you, Rem? Is Nell going to have to look for two new tenants in the next year?’</p><p class="western">The room, once again, fell quiet. Remington fidgeted a little when all eyes turned to him, but then he shook his head. ‘Nah. Not yet.’</p><p class="western">Next to him, Ashford frowned. ‘But your house… I mean. I know it’s not finished yet, but it’s not going to take that long. You could probably move in in February, if you wanted to.’</p><p class="western">He sounded a little unsure, as if he’d only just realized that helping Remington get the work on the house done as quickly as he had, also meant that Remington was going to leave sooner rather than later. Knowing Ashford as he did, Remington supposed that that was probably the case. He shook his head again, smiling when he saw confusion all around. ‘I, uhm. I have a plan. And I’m not going to tell you tonight, because tonight’s not about me. Tonight’s about Orla. But no. I’m not moving out of here anytime soon. Not now, not in February.’ He looked at Nell. ‘Unless you already have someone lined up who needs my flat more than I do, of course.’</p><p class="western">Nell smiled at him and Remington knew he’d made the right call. ‘No. Not yet. I know of somebody who will be happy to take Orla’s flat, but we will talk about that a little bit later too. But I can promise you, no more werewolves. No offence of course, Ashford, dear.’</p><p class="western">‘None taken,’ the werewolf replied cheerfully, taking another swig of beer. ‘I get it. You don’t want too many of us in one house.’</p><p class="western">‘One’s already more than enough trouble,’ Remington said darkly, and grinned as the room erupted in laughter.</p><p class="western">It was only later, much later, when he was escorting a slightly wobbly werewolf back to his flat (after the beer and the champagne, they all had started sharing Mr. Donner’s vodka. Pearl had put some ground up ghost peppers in hers) that Ashford turned and looked sternly at Remington. ‘You’re not going to sshell the houssh, are you?’</p><p class="western">Remington tried not to find the slurring werewolf completely adorable, and failed miserably. ‘No,’ he said, gently nudging Ashford into the direction of his front door. ‘I’m not going to sell it. Don’t worry.’</p><p class="western">The werewolf frowned and refused to budge. ‘Then what’re you g’nna do?’ he asked. ‘Thought you liked it. Felt right at home, you did.’</p><p class="western">He sounded accusatory. Remington shook his head and gave up on fighting the way his heart squeezed together at Ashford’s concerned look. ‘I did,’ he said softly. ‘It’s a good house. And I am going to go and live there, and I’m not going to sell it. But I’m also going to do something else with it, and I need to… I need to make sure that that’s going to work first. Before I move in. And that is probably going to take some time, so.’ He smiled at Ashford’s confusion. ‘It’s going to be OK,’ he finished, hoping the werewolf at least understood that much.</p><p class="western">Ashford looked at him quietly for a moment and then his face softened. Remington fought the urge to step back, worried that he might be grabbed and kissed again before he was ready, but instead Ashford simply said: ‘I like you.’</p><p class="western">Remington breathed out.</p><p class="western">‘I like you a lot,’ Ashford went on, looking at Remington in the dim light of the hallway. ‘Really a lot. Did you know that? You probably do, by now.’</p><p class="western">‘Yes,’ Remington sighed, shaking his head. ‘I do. And you,’ he said, taking the keys out of Ashford’s pocket and opening the door, ‘have even less of a filter than usual. Come on. Inside. Drink some water and go to bed, alright?’</p><p class="western">‘Like you a lot,’ Ashford agreed. But Remington, muttering something uncharitable under his breath about werewolves and their surprisingly low tolerance for alcohol, had already closed the door behind him and left him to his own devices. He made his way back upstairs, only slightly wobbly himself, and entered his flat to a disdainful look from Lady Jane. ‘Yeah, well,’ he told her, ‘you’re not the boss of me.’</p><p class="western">OK, maybe he was a little tipsy too. But he didn’t care. He was his own boss, literally and figuratively, and what he did with his Wednesday nights was completely up to him. He glanced over at the cat and gnome-proof box in which he kept his works in progress. ‘Blanket,’ he decided, and lifted the lid. It really was almost done; there were only a couple more rows to go and the border was only a couple hours’ work at most. It would make a nice Christmas present, he thought. All folded up and wrapped nicely in paper and with a big bow around it and Ashford would love it.</p><p class="western">He frowned. But it wouldn’t be a surprise. And for some reason, giving the werewolf something he had repeatedly asked for, did not really feel like a proper Christmas present. Which was ridiculous, because he couldn’t even <em>remember </em>the last time he had given someone a Christmas present, but here he was.</p><p class="western">‘Bloody werewolves,’ he muttered. Lady Jane yawned, and Remington agreed. It was high time he followed his own advice so he closed the lid on the box again. Then he went into the kitchen, glugged down two glasses of water and then went to bed. He would sort things out in the morning.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">He woke up the next day with a mild hangover and a plan. After drinking another two glasses of water, making a cup of strong coffee and going down for breakfast at Nell’s, where Mr. Donner served all of them a proper (and still vegan) Full English to recover from last night’s party, he came back up to his flat, fed Lady Jane and then took out his blanket box again. He only needed to keep a few colors apart to finish it, but the rest he took out and put in another, slightly smaller box. Then he went back over to the bookcase, rooted around until he located a folder creatively named <em>Hats and things. </em></p><p class="western">It only took a couple of minutes browsing before he found what he was looking for. Still not really thinking about why this suddenly seemed so important, he took out the pages he needed, put them with the yarn in the smaller box, and then put everything back in the bookcase. Years of experience had taught him to finish one project at a time, if at all possible, so it was blanket first, Christmas surprises later.</p><p class="western">He worked all through the morning and managed to get the blanket all but done. The first row of the border, however, was finicky and annoying and de decided to keep the finishing touch for later. From here on, it was just three rows of slip stitches anyway, and he could do those blindfolded and with his hands tied behind his back. There were still three weeks to go until Christmas; plenty of time to get that done, and get his additional little project done afterwards.</p><p class="western">He looked at the heap of fabric in his lap and smiled. It did look like an autumn forest; the merino colors were less bright but still somehow deeper than the cotton would have been, which made for a very rustic look. Perfect for someone who liked nature and green things. It was incredibly soft, too, and Remington tried not to imagine Ashford all wrapped up in his work, warm and safe. He failed.</p><p class="western">‘Damn it,’ he muttered, without really meaning it. He glared at Lady Jane, who looked at him smugly. ‘Shut up.’</p><p class="western">Lady Jane yawned.</p><p class="western">‘Yeah,’ Remington sighed, fighting a smile and once again failing. ‘I suppose you’re right. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.’</p><p class="western">Lady Jane declined to comment, and started washing herself. Remington glared at her once again for good measure, and then got up and retrieved his laptop from his desk. His house was coming together more and more and Ashford had told him about the window people that would be there next week already; it was time he started making some serious progress on his second big project.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Ash spent the rest of the week quietly working away under Mr. Summers’ watchful eye. Aside from Remington’s house, there were a number of other small jobs to do, each of them a day or two at most, since most homeowners left the really big projects until the next year, when all the money wasn’t going to trees and decorations and presents and extravagant dinners. So Ash spent a couple of days replacing leaky pipes, setting up boilers and fixing lights and other assorted urgent tasks that could not wait for more than a couple of days. It was good work and he liked it, but it did mean he did not get to see all that much of Remington, except during dinners. And given their last conversation, that was a bit of a pity.</p><p class="western">Because despite being more than a little buzzed at the time, Ash did remember that. And he also remembered Remington looking… not upset. A little tired, maybe, and a little tipsy himself, but not upset. Not angry, and not afraid and not rejecting Ash outright and somehow, that had felt like a major victory.</p><p class="western">And then, nothing. Dinners were pleasant enough and at Orla’s surprise party when she came back to Willow’s Close, Remington had been the one to help Ash decorate Nell’s flat and had cheered with the rest of them when Orla walked through the door… but after that, he’d spent most of the night talking quietly in a corner with Nell and Ash had been too preoccupied with hugging Orla and listening to her tell the story of how she and her sisters did not, in fact, beat the crap out of her guy but instead sent him to jail for running a smuggling ring. Which was also good and Ash had enjoyed it immensely and hugged her as tight as he could as often as he could and told her he’d miss her when she moved out, but.</p><p class="western">He would have liked to talk to Remington too. Just for a moment.</p><p class="western">And it wasn’t like the witch was avoiding him. Ash knew what avoiding tactics looked like, and this wasn’t it. It just seemed like, after they had spent a couple of moments of bonding together, it was now time to drift apart a little again. Which bummed him out more than he’d liked to admit, but here they were. And knowing Remington, and knowing, by now, that in some ways, he was not unlike a feral cat that did not always respond well to people approaching him, Ash figured it might not be a good idea to go up to the witch’s flat and ask him outright where they stood now. He would just have to have a little faith that Remington would come back on his own. If he wanted to.</p><p class="western">God, Ash hoped he wanted to.</p><p class="western">Which was why he found himself so unreasonably relieved when Mr. Summers announced, at the end of a day spent patching up a leaking roof which would have to be replaced anyway, but apparently had chosen to give out before its time, that the next days would be spent at Remington’s house.</p><p class="western">‘Best get that done while it’s dry out,’ he said, eyeing the clouds overhead. Ash nodded, biting back a smile. ‘Window frames are wood, but they’re still solid. A new paint job and they’re good to go, and then Jimmy can come and get some double glazed in there, and then that’ll be the inside and outside done. Your boy will be home for Christmas, eh?’</p><p class="western">He laughed and Ash laughed with him, ignoring the way his gut squeezed at that idea. Remington had said he had no plans to move out yet, but Ash had seen the way he moved around his new house, and he had his doubts.</p><p class="western">He didn’t tell anybody about those doubts, however. Least of all Remington. He figured he could let the witch figure that one out on his own.</p><p class="western">And that was how, the next day, he found himself sanding down the window frames at Remington’s house. It was a nice day, bright and sunny and not too cold, so that after an hour two of stripping and sanding he had worked up a pleasant hard-at-work sweat. Given that the house had only one real floor to speak of and three small windows in the attic, he and Mr. Summers had all but completed the prep work when Remington arrived near the end of the afternoon to check in.</p><p class="western">‘Looks good,’ he commented, coming around the corner into the backyard. He grinned at Ash, and it took Ash a moment to realize that the witch wasn’t just talking about the window frames but that this was instead apparently a very awkward attempt at flirting.</p><p class="western">That was new. Ash grinned back, trying to contain the way his mind went for a small victory lap. ‘Thanks. It’ll look even better tomorrow, covered in paint.’</p><p class="western">Alright, maybe he wasn’t that great at outright flirting either. But Mr. Summers sniggered and told Remington that he should see Ash with a paintbrush because he was a regular Van Gogh, and then Remington laughed as well and Ash wanted to grab him and take him inside and make him stay there, because <em>how </em>did Remington not see it? But instead he shook his head and blushed a little when Remington smiled at him again and for a moment, everything looked like it was going to be just another good afternoon.</p><p class="western">And then something changed. Ash looked up and frowned. He had been careful not to overtly sniff the air when Mr. Summers was around, but this was unmistakable. ‘Remington. Someone’s coming,’ he said, and the change in his tone was enough to wipe the smile of the witch’s face immediately. ‘Someone’s coming. Up the road. They’ll be here in a second.’</p><p class="western">‘Who’s coming?’ Remington asked. His happy demeanor had vanished entirely and he looked almost the same as when Ash had first met him. Closed off, tense and all his hackles up, with a dark look on his face that made Ash hurt inside. ‘How many?’</p><p class="western">Mr. Summers looked from Ash to Remington, a little confused but more worried. ‘Mr. Summers,’ Ash said slowly, ‘I think you’d better go. Now.’</p><p class="western">The contractor nodded and turned to his van. He didn’t ask any questions but before Ash had time to wonder about that, or before he had time to answer Remington, there was a squeal of tires, followed by the crunch of footsteps on gravel and a loud voice that called: ‘Hoi! Anybody home? You’ve got a <em>visitor!’</em></p><p class="western">Remington went white as a sheet. ‘Inside. Both of you,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘<em>Please,’ </em>he added when Ash was about to protest. ‘Please. Let me… let me deal with this.’</p><p class="western">No. Ashford did not want to let Remington deal with this. Whatever this was. Not when he was looking like he’d seen a ghost (or at least a ghost that wasn’t Beau), and not when his hands were shaking and not when <em>whoever it was</em> was still standing in front of the house, hollering for Remington to come out.</p><p class="western">Mr. Summers, on the other hand, had already run inside. Which was smart. Ash looked at Remington, pleading silently, but Remington shook his head and set his jaw. ‘No,’ he said, so softly it was almost inaudible. ‘Please. Ashford. You’ll only make things worse.’</p><p class="western">And that was probably true. But that didn’t mean Ash liked it any better as he resignedly plodded through the backdoor and into the house. Mr. Summers had taken up position in the kitchen, looking concerned when Ash came through the door. ‘Bad trouble?’ he asked and now Ash did wonder how much the man knew.</p><p class="western">‘Don’t know,’ he said. ‘Personal trouble, at least. Best… best to stay out of it.’</p><p class="western">Mr. Summers nodded and turned on the kettle, apparently satisfied. Ash sat down on one of the folding chairs and leaned back against the wall. Hoping against hope that things would not be too bad outside. All he had picked up was one scent, one individual, and it had not been a wolf. But even so, Ash had seen Remington’s face. And knowing at least some pieces of the witch’s history, Ash did not have to be a genius to know that whoever this person was, there were a number of ways that this could turn very, very bad indeed.</p><p class="western">‘I think I’ll head to the living room,’ he told Mr. Summers. ‘Not… not to eavesdrop or anything. But I want to make sure.’</p><p class="western">Mr. Summers nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘That’s probably wise,’ he said. ‘I understand that boy wants to fend for himself, but. It’s good to look out for each other.’</p><p class="western">Which was exactly what Ash was going to do. He got up and made his way down the hallway, just in time to hear an unfamiliar voice say: ‘Ah, Cassandra, there you are! Took me long enough to find this place. How’ve you been, sweetheart?’</p><p class="western">It took Ash two seconds before he realized what was going on, and then he had to almost physically restrain himself from punching a hole through the wall and tear out this person’s throat. And then Remington said: ‘Hello Morgan,’ and his voice sounded so cold and distant and so much like the old Remington, the Remington who had been afraid and angry and Ash wanted to cry.</p><p class="western">He sat down on the floor instead, leaning against the wall. It wasn’t necessary to hear what was going on, but it helped, somehow.</p><p class="western">Outside, Remington, his voice still sounding so, so wrong, asked: ‘What are you doing here?’</p><p class="western">The other one, Morgan, did not reply for a moment. By now, Ash had realized what it was that had thrown him off about the scent; there was a power there, an unfamiliar power from the kind Lewis or Remington carried with them. This Morgan was a witch.</p><p class="western">And by now, Ash was pretty sure which pack he belonged to.</p><p class="western">‘I came to see you, of course,’ Morgan said. He sounded friendly enough, but even Ash heard the cold undertone. ‘Imagine how surprised we all were. Here we are, we have not heard from you in <em>years </em>and then dear old Grandma Ellie goes ahead and puts you in her will! Just like that! And a house, no less!’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah, well,’ Remington said sourly. ‘I was pretty surprised to hear she’d died. If we’re being honest.’</p><p class="western">Yeah. Ash remembered that. It did not diminish his urge to go out and throat-punch this Morgan in the slightest.</p><p class="western">‘Oh, right. Sorry about that,’ Morgan said easily. ‘I think we were all rather busy at the moment. And it wasn’t like you were going to come up for the funeral now, were you?’ There was a barb at the end of that, and Ash gritted his teeth. If this witch wasn’t going to leave soon, something was going to give.</p><p class="western">‘No,’ Remington said slowly. ‘No. I don’t think so.’</p><p class="western">‘Well then!’ Morgan said, as if that made everything alright. ‘See? No harm done, really. But what I’m actually here for, is to have a look at your house. Your father thought it might be a good place for Lily to have her cub. You know how busy the house can get and Lily has been looking for a little quiet place like this.’ There was a moment of silence and then the witch continued: ‘I think this will be perfect for her.’</p><p class="western">Ash stopped breathing. Because he understood all those words separately, even though he didn’t know who Lily was though of course, he could guess. But they could not possibly mean what he thought they meant, because that was impossible.</p><p class="western">‘No.’ Remington’s voice was a crack. ‘No. No. It’s mine. It’s not for Lily. It’s <em>mine.’</em></p><p class="western">‘Come on, Cassie,’ Morgan said. He had given up all pretense of being friendly. ‘What do you need an entire house for? I thought you were living in the city? And frankly, it’s a little ridiculous that Grandma Ellie left this all to you, while she knew that the pack house was getting too small. No. This will be a nice place for the pack, and you can go back to that student dorm of yours or whatever you call it and then we’ll never have to hear from each other again. How does that sound?’</p><p class="western">It sounded like bullshit to Ash. Once again, he had to remind himself to sit still and not come charging out like a knight in shining armor. Not yet. He dug his nails into his palms and realized too late that there was some shifting happening; the claws dug deep and it hurt enough that he almost did not catch what Remington was saying.</p><p class="western">‘No.’ And it might have been Ash’ imagination, but it was like a shiver went through the entire house. ‘No. It’s <em>mine.’ </em></p><p class="western">Definitely not just Ash’ imagination. The wall he was sitting against, trembled, just for a second and he could hear a faint groaning from somewhere upstairs. He sat up.</p><p class="western">‘It’s. <em>Mine,’ </em>Remington said again and his voice sounded different. Still cold, but deeper, with an echo that made the hair on Ash’ neck stand on end. ‘<em>Not </em>the pack’s. <em>Not </em>father’s, <em>not </em>Lily’s and <em>not </em>yours. <em>Mine.’</em></p><p class="western">There was a deep grumbling noise from outside and suddenly, the smell of tea and iron was everywhere. Ash heard a yelp and then there was a crackle and a fizz and the scent of burning metal.</p><p class="western">‘<em>Mine.’</em></p><p class="western">The house groaned again. Outside, Morgan yelled something Ash did not understand and then again: ‘<em>Mine!’</em></p><p class="western">Another cry, this time of pain and then a crash so loud that Ash clapped his hands to his ears and the world went white. It seemed to go on forever and then, just as suddenly, it was gone and Ash was left with ringing ears and stars dancing in front of his eyes. A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see Mr. Summers kneeling in front of him, concern written all over his face.</p><p class="western">‘You alright, son?’ he asked. Or rather, mouthed. It took a while before sound properly returned and Ash could nod. Mr. Summers nodded too, smiling a little. ‘That’s one powerful boy you’ve got there,’ he said, looking impressed. ‘You stay here. I’ll go check on him, though I imagine that other lad needs it more. I’ll be right back.’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded again, too dazed to answer. Mr. Summers smiled and then vanished, leaving Ash to count tweety-birds in the empty living room. It took him a few minutes to get his breath and his vision back, although the ringing in his ears was probably there to stay for a bit. But he managed to wobble to his feet, grabbing at the wall to keep him upright. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered, because after all that, it felt rude to keep going around the house without acknowledging its very real presence.</p><p class="western">The house didn’t reply. Not that Ash had expected anything. He made his way out of the living room, carefully shuffling and holding on to the doorpost when he stepped into the hallway. He wasn’t sure what just happened, except that a <em>lot </em>of power had been unleashed and it was eerily quiet outside, which was enough to make him speed up and walk as fast as he dared without toppling over.</p><p class="western">When he finally made it outside, he stopped in his tracks. The backyard was almost unrecognizable; all the grass had been scorched and was now one giant patch of grey and black. There was still some smoldering going on in the ditch on the far side, where the reeds had caught fire but were too soggy to really commit to it. Ash didn’t want to know what the brand new wooden fence looked like, but he could guess. The house, on the other hand, did not have a scratch. The plasterwork shone white as ever in the late afternoon sunlight, as if whatever had happened had passed right through it without doing any damage.</p><p class="western">Ash supposed he shouldn’t really be surprised by that. But it was impressive and as he slowly made his way across the wasteland that had once been the backyard, he couldn’t help but feel a little terrified. If this was what Remington was capable of when he wasn’t trying to hide from his power, then Ash had severely underestimated him. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.</p><p class="western">Then he got around the corner of the house and stopped again. There was a crumpled heap lying on the far end of the driveway, far behind Mr. Summers’ van. There was another heap sitting against the wall of the house, with Mr. Summers kneeling next to it.</p><p class="western">For the second time in a matter of minutes, Ash stopped breathing. Then the heap groaned and Mr. Summers looked up at Ash. ‘He’ll be alright,’ he said gently. ‘Just had his own wind knocked out of him, but he’s good.’</p><p class="western">Ash breathed out. ‘Then I’ll go check on the other one, I guess,’ he said roughly. Mr. Summers nodded and Ash tried not to look at Remington as he made his way down the driveway. He was pretty sure that no amount of self-restraint would stop him from picking up the witch, <em>his </em>witch, and carrying him bodily inside the moment he got a good look at him. As it was, he kept his eyes on that other one. The other witch, the <em>bad </em>witch, the one who had hurt <em>his </em>witch and called him by the wrong name and tried to take away his house.</p><p class="western">His claws, which had retracted only a little when the blast happened, slowly inched out again. His teeth grew too, and he could have stopped it but chose not to. Instead he made his way over and knelt down next to the witch that Remington had called Morgan. He sniffed. This witch smelled of smoke, which wasn’t all that surprising, given that part of his jacket had burned away. But there was also something else. Something dark and rich, like chocolate and leather. Ash didn’t like it.</p><p class="western">‘Oi,’ he said, shoving the witch none too gently. The heap groaned, so at least Ash assumed he was still alive. He tried not to feel disappointed by that, and failed. ‘Up.’</p><p class="western">One eye blinked open. Morgan, as far as Ash could see, was a tall guy, with dirty blond hair and the eye that was now staring up at him was blue. ‘Up, I said.’</p><p class="western">‘You’re…’ Morgan coughed. It sounded painful, which was good. ‘You’re…’</p><p class="western">‘Yes,’ Ash agreed. ‘I’m. And you are going to get up.’ He bared his teeth, which had grown into proper fangs now. ‘And you are going to get out of here and you are not going to come back. Not you, not your pack. Not anyone. Or the gods help you, I will be the <em>least </em>of your worries.’</p><p class="western">Morgan tried to splutter, but was interrupted by another coughing fit. Ash briefly wondered if he might have cracked a rib, but decided not to worry. Instead, he grabbed the witch by the front of his coat, hauled him up with one hand and dragged him over to the car that was still blocking the driveway. He opened the driver’s door with his free hand, shoved Morgan inside and slammed the car shut. It took a few minutes before Morgan had gained enough brain cells to turn on the engine and let the car roll away. Ash stood to the side, watching until he had turned a wobbly corner and disappeared from view. Leaving only a cloud of exhaust fumes and the smell of burning things in his wake.</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Remington came too and immediately wished he hadn’t. It seemed like the entire world was spinning around him, like a merry-go-round that had gone out of control. His stomach churned and his head felt like it was about to split open. He groaned and regretted that too; his throat was raw and every sound or movement felt like he was chewing on splintered glass.</p><p class="western">‘Easy does it, Mr. Moore,’ came a voice to his right. It wasn’t a very familiar voice and it took him some time to register who it belonged too. ‘Easy does it. Take your time. That was quite a lot, wasn’t it?’</p><p class="western"><em>Quite a lot</em> sounded like rather an understatement. Remington had never felt so wrung out. Never felt as weak as a newborn kitten, not even when he had had carbon monoxide coursing through his veins. He groaned again. Mr. Summers said something over his head, something Remington didn’t quite catch. There were footsteps and, for a brief moment, Remington smelled green earth and growing things and then it was gone.</p><p class="western">He blinked, opening his eyes for the first time. He didn’t see much, his vision being all blurry and he blinked again. The backyard drifted slowly into focus and he croaked out a swearword.</p><p class="western">‘Yeah,’ Mr. Summers said, chuckling a little. ‘That’s gonna cost you a pretty penny to clean up. Good thing your house is still standing, eh?’</p><p class="western">Remington’s head thunked back against the wall. He swallowed and quickly pushed away the thought of his house as a smoldering ruin because <em>no. </em>He didn’t know what he would have done if something like that had happened, if Morgan had been just a little bit more alert or a little bit more vengeful, but he doubted it would have been pretty. As it was, he closed his eyes and reached out, making contact but not saying anything aloud, both not to confuse Mr. Summers and because his throat still wasn’t up to cooperating. <em>Hey, </em>he thought, fighting through the fog, <em>you alright?</em></p><p class="western">There were no words, but a heavy feeling of relief, still mixed with a healthy dose of concern.</p><p class="western"><em>Yeah. I know. That was a doozy. </em>He paused, then tried to smile. <em>Thanks for helping out.</em></p><p class="western">Silence. Then a wave of cheerfulness that cleared a good part of the fog away.</p><p class="western"><em>You were amazing,</em> Remington thought. The smile came a little easier now. <em>Couldn’t have done it without you. </em>And that was the truth, he realized. That was more magic than he had ever pulled in his life, and he could never have done it at Willow’s Close, or even at his old pack’s house. There was something here that had given him enough power to blast the entire backyard to cinders and to send Morgan flying out into the road and it was a realization Remington should probably have come to a little bit sooner. <em>Thank you, </em>he thought again, and closed the connection before he made any stupid promises. Such as staying here instead of going back to Willow’s Close, for instance.</p><p class="western">Then a car engine sputtered to life and he turned his head, just in time to see Morgan drive away. Which probably meant he hadn’t been thrown hard enough to kill or do any real damage, which was probably good, although it did sting, just a little. It stung even more that his pack had thought they could intimidate him by sending just one person, and it stung the most that that person had been Morgan, of all people. Remington knew that it wasn’t Morgan’s fault, per se. Nothing of what had happened had been Morgan’s fault. He had just been sucked up in it, had had to join in to protect himself. To keep the pack from turning on him. If Remington had been a bit of a bigger person, he wouldn’t have blamed him.</p><p class="western">But he wasn’t, and he did, and it did sting. He blinked and realized his cheeks were damp. Which was just the icing on the cake, really, because at that moment Ashford wandered back into view. And if there was one thing Remington did not want to see right now, it was a werewolf. No matter how kind they were, or how strong, or how much they smelled of plants.</p><p class="western">He didn’t know what the expression on his face was doing. But Ashford’s face fell, and then fell a little further, and Remington closed his eyes, leaned back against the wall and felt even more like shit.</p><p class="western">‘Mr. Summers,’ he heard the werewolf say, ‘could you please take him back home? I… I have to get my van back from the workshop and…’</p><p class="western">‘That’s alright,’ Mr. Summers said, a little surprised. ‘Of course. Come on, Mr. Moore. Up we get.’</p><p class="western">Two strong hands picked him up and put him on his feet. It took a little bit more manhandling and then Remington was sitting in the passenger seat of his car, with Mr. Summers turning the key into the ignition. Ashford had gone somewhere else. Remington hadn’t seen where he went, and he probably should care but he was tired. Too tired. As the engine rumbled to life and they turned out of the driveway and into the road, he leaned his head against the window, closed his eyes and let the world fade to black. He only had a brief recollection of those same hands bundling him out of the car again some time later, and then a tutting and scolding voice that could only have been Nell’s. More hands, more handling and then he was back into his flat, lying in his bed with a cat on one side and an overly helpful ghost nattering away at the other.</p><p class="western">He was home. And that was the last thought he had before he drifted back into unconsciousness.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">The next entire week was hell. Remington went through one of the worst migraines he had ever had in his life, which, if he had had the capacity to think about it, only made sense. As it was, he hid in his bedroom like a bogeyman, all the lights off and all the windows shut, popping as many sleeping pills as he dared and surviving only by sheer will and the fact that Nell checked in on him every couple of hours and forced him to drink a glass of water whenever she caught him awake.</p><p class="western">He woke up on one day feeling marginally better, enough at least that he dared to take a shower before he choked on the fumes that were wafting up from under the covers. Unfortunately, he did not have the energy or mental capacity to change the sheets, so instead he pulled out a second comforter from the linen drawer and used that as a blanket before he went back to sleep. It was something, at least.</p><p class="western">He woke up again some unknown time later. His head was still pounding and his stomach was viciously unhappy with him, but for the first time in what seemed like years, he did not want to tear his own head off. Which was an improvement. He took another shower and instead of going to bed again, decided to pop a couple of ibuprofen and check on the state of his flat, worrying about what the gnomes might have been up to while he was busy dying.</p><p class="western">The answer, it turned out, was surprisingly little. Remington went slowly around his flat, with the blinds still closed against the light, and discovered that really only a couple of old crochet hooks were missing. They were sizes he did not really use anyway, and he had kept them mostly around for completeness’ sake. At least his blanket box and his smaller project boxes sat untouched, which was a relief. With Lady Jane at his heels, he then shuffled into the kitchen, where he found both her kibble and water bowl filled and her litter box squeaky clean. That touched him more than he thought it would and he spend a minute blinking away tears before he told himself that it only made sense, that Nell wouldn’t let his cat starve if she was there to check on him anyway.</p><p class="western">Still. He stood in the kitchen for a long time, staring into space before he realized he should probably try and eat something himself. There were a couple of granola bars on the counter, another thing that made him well up at first and then scold himself for being a drama queen. He opened one up and nibbled it carefully. It was dry and a bit bland, but still one of the best things he had ever tasted in his life. He ate it slowly, fully aware that devouring it in two bites would only lead to more problems. Next to him, Lady Jane attacked her kibble as if she hadn’t eaten properly in days either. Remington did not want to think about whether or not that was true, and why.</p><p class="western">There was the jingle of a key, sounding unnaturally loud in the silence. Remington looked up and made his way back into the living room. The door to his flat was open and he winced in the light that was flooding in. Nell hastily closed the door behind her, mouthing an apology.</p><p class="western">Remington nodded, indicating that it was alright. Nell tilted her head in question. Remington gave a thumbs up and showed her the half-eaten granola bar. Nell smiled widely, shoulders sagging in relief. Remington supposed that she had a right to be worried; he could not remember being laid this low for so long before. But he smiled too and after some more sign language to indicate that yes, he was really doing alright, Nell retreated and left him alone.</p><p class="western">He went into the kitchen to get a glass of water and then sat down on the sofa, unwrapping his second granola bar. That was when he noticed his phone blinking at him from his desk. He did not remember putting it there, let alone charging it, but there it was. He contemplated briefly if it was a good idea, but then decided it might be nice to know what day it actually was and got up to get it.</p><p class="western">He almost dropped it when he turned it on. It had been five days since the incident at the house. Five days since he’d thrown Morgan through the air like a ragdoll, five days since he had tapped into more power than he had ever felt in his life and five days since things between him and Ashford had taken a turn for the worse. As was demonstrated by the text message he opened next: <em>Windows all done. Hope you feel better soon.</em></p><p class="western">Which was unusually short and to the point for Ashford. Remington did not really want to think about what that meant, because his head already hurt more than enough. But it did not sound good. He was still a little fuzzy on what exactly had happened, what he might have done or said, but decided that clearing things up could wait another day. Instead, he put down his phone and got back to finishing his granola bars. The werewolf would be there when he was ready to face the outside world again.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">However, when he finally felt brave enough to head down to Nell’s flat for dinner the next night, there was no sign of Ashford.</p><p class="western">Remington stood in the doorway and looked around, brow furrowed. Usually Ashford got in well before him and was already at the table when Remington came in, either helping Nell set up the plates or talking to Orla, or Pearl, or Beau, or whoever else was there. It was a bit of a surprise, and not a very welcome one, to see an empty seat.</p><p class="western">‘Oh hey,’ Pearl said, pale eyes wide. ‘Look who’s back from the dead.’</p><p class="western">‘Good to see you up and about, Mr. Moore,’ Beau added in a slightly friendlier tone. ‘We were all worried.’ This last was said with an admonishing look at the young dragon, who grinned. Remington nodded at him and ignored Pearl, for now. ‘No Ashford tonight?’ he asked, pulling out a chair.</p><p class="western">Pearl huffed. Beau looked a little troubled. And Remington felt the unease in his gut only increase. ‘What? What happened?’</p><p class="western">‘Nothing happened,’ Nell said, emerging from the kitchen and wiping her hands on a towel. ‘He has gone back to his pack for a few days. He’ll be back after Christmas, I believe.’</p><p class="western">Remington blinked. ‘He has gone what now?’</p><p class="western">‘Back to his pack,’ Pearl said, with an expression that was far too gleeful for Remington’s liking. ‘About an hour after you came home after blowing up your house. Packed up a duffel bag, asked Nell to look after his plants and whoosh. Out the door.’</p><p class="western">‘I didn’t….’ Remington started, but decided that it was no use. ‘Why?’</p><p class="western">Because if there was one thing he now knew about Ashford Leigh, it was that he loved his pack, but from a distance. He might spend a day or two with them to shift during the full moon, but not every month. He might head back for birthdays and anniversaries and other festivities, hell. He might even head back for Christmas. But Remington had a hard time believing that he would do so almost ten days before it actually <em>was </em>Christmas, because that meant Ashford would stay with his pack for almost two weeks and that was something he just would not do. Not without having a very good reason.</p><p class="western">Remington didn’t know exactly what that reason might be. But he had some suspicions, and he liked exactly none of them.</p><p class="western">‘You know, that’s a good question,’ Pearl drawled. ‘And we kind of hoped you could tell us. What the hell happened out there, Rem? Because Ash just told us something about another witch trying to take away your house and then you getting mad and exploding.’</p><p class="western">‘He was rather agitated,’ Beau explained. ‘We could not get much sense out of him before he left. And as for your other friend, Master Summers, well. A decent chap, but not very well up on the ways of the supernatural, if you get my drift.’</p><p class="western">No, of course not. Remington didn’t know Mr. Summers all that well, but even though he had seemed remarkably cool when Remington had set the backyard on fire, he probably didn’t understand what it all meant.</p><p class="western">Remington swallowed and looked up at the ceiling for a moment before he stared back at the table. ‘Alright. We were at the house…’</p><p class="western">It took him a while to get the entire story out, mainly because everything he said led to questions. Some of those he answered, such as where all that power had come from (‘the house,’ Remington said simply. ‘It was the house.’). Others, he did not answer, such as why Morgan had taken so long to find him if his old pack knew where the house was, according to the lawyer who had given him the keys (Remington also had some dark suspicions about that. But thinking about it would lead to nothing, and he had enough suspicions eating away at him already).</p><p class="western">‘Well,’ Pearl said, looking slightly impressed. ‘I guess that explains the week of dying, then. That sounds like a lot of raw power, Rem.’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded. ‘Yeah. It was.’ He swallowed a bite of zucchini Nell had placed in front of them while he was talking. ‘Hurt like a bitch, too.’</p><p class="western">‘It sounds like you have finally found a good source,’ Beau added. He looked serious. ‘That is good, Mr. Moore. Very good.’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded again awkwardly and took another bite. The silence dragged on for a moment, and then Pearl said: ‘And you still don’t know why Ash might have gone away?’</p><p class="western">It sounded like a question with the most obvious answer in the world, but Remington stared at her blankly. ‘No. Not a clue.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh for the love of…’ Pearl rolled her eyes, and then for good measure when Remington gave no sign of understanding, rolled them again. ‘I have met some dense people in my day, but right now, Rem, you are at least in the top five. Are you sure that blast didn’t scramble your brains permanently?’</p><p class="western">‘Pearl,’ Remington snapped, finally nearing the end of his tether after a <em>very </em>trying week, ‘If you want to be cryptic, you can do it somewhere else. So either just tell me, or get out.’</p><p class="western">‘What Miss Pearl is trying to say,’ Beau cut in smoothly, ‘is that it seems Mr. Leigh has retreated to give you a little space. Which is very thoughtful of him, of course.’</p><p class="western">Remington blinked at him. ‘I still don’t…’</p><p class="western">‘For fuck’s sake, Rem,’ Pearl said, still with a waspish expression on her face. ‘He’s giving you <em>space. </em>You’re bitching about werewolves all the time and everybody knows you have a chip on your shoulder about them the size of this entire building! And now someone from your old pack comes along and you lose it and because Ash is a sweetheart who also is not the brightest sometimes, he figured he should not be around when you woke up, because, I don’t know. You might become even more traumatized, or something.’</p><p class="western">‘But…’ Remington sputtered. Because <em>what. </em>‘But… he didn’t… <em>what?’</em></p><p class="western">‘He’s just looking out for you, dear,’ Nell said gently. Her eyes were twinkling behind her glasses and Remington stared at her slack-jawed. ‘As Pearl said. He’s a sweetheart.’</p><p class="western">Yes. Yes, he was and at that thought, Remington gave up. He slumped forward over the table, burying his face in his arms and stayed there, where it was dark and safe and no one was looking at him.</p><p class="western">‘Yeah,’ he heard Pearl say from far away. ‘That’s what I thought.’</p><p class="western">It took a while before Remington had gathered the strength to lift his head again. He looked at Pearl, who was about to make another cutting remark but stopped when she saw the look on his face. ‘Will you help me?’ he asked, voice soft.</p><p class="western">The room fell silent again. Nell smiled like a proud mother hen. Beau tilted his head and nodded, even though the question had not been for him. And Pearl grinned, looking truly delighted for the first time in all the years Remington had known her. ‘Oh, but <em>of course!’</em></p>
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<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">It hurt more than Ash would have liked to admit to pack his duffel bag and leave Willow’s Close. In fact, it hurt so much that he did not even call his mother until he was outside of the city. He parked his van at the first available motorway service station and breathed in, out, in before he dialed the number.</p><p class="western">‘Hey cub.’</p><p class="western">‘Hey mum.’</p><p class="western">A moment’s pause, and then Annabelle said: ‘What’s wrong?’</p><p class="western">Ash breathed in. And out. ‘I’m… I’m coming home for a few days. Until… I think until after Christmas. Is that OK?’</p><p class="western">‘Of course,’ Annabelle said gently. Breathing was getting more and more difficult, but Ash struggled through anyway. ‘Of course, cub, you don’t have to ask. Are you alright?’</p><p class="western">‘No,’ Ash said, and then quickly: ‘Yes. I don’t know. Uhm. It’s… it’s a long story.’</p><p class="western">‘Is it that witch?’ Annabelle asked and oh, that hurt. ‘Did something happen? You said he did not like werewolves, did he?’</p><p class="western">Ash swallowed. ‘No. Yes. I mean. No, he didn’t do anything. Or, he did. But not… not like that. It’s… it’s complicated.’</p><p class="western">‘It sounds like it,’ Annabelle agreed. ‘Alright. Drive safe, cub, and tell us what happened when you get here, alright?’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded, even though his mum couldn’t see him. ‘Yeah. Sure. I will. Bye, mum.’</p><p class="western">‘Bye, cub.’</p><p class="western">He drove the rest of the way slowly and carefully, only stopping once or twice when he felt himself start to shake a little too much. It took him near three hours to get to the Leigh pack’s house and when he got out of his van, Annabelle was already waiting. Ash stood still for a moment and then went over and wrapped his arms around his mum without another word.</p><p class="western">‘Poor cub,’ he heard her mutter while he buried his face in her hair. ‘Poor, poor cub. Why don’t you come inside, hm? We’ll get you warmed up and then we can talk, if you want to.’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded, breathing only a little easier. He followed Annabelle meekly inside, and only gave Olivia a cursory hug when she came out to see what was going on. ‘Hey. Gonna go upstairs with mum for a bit. Uhm. Is Lewis here?’</p><p class="western">Annabelle turned around. ‘Oh. Yes, of course. Do you want him too?’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded again. Annabelle looked at him for a long moment and then smiled. ‘Alright. Then you go up to the library. I’ll fetch him.’</p><p class="western">She turned a corner, leaving Ash alone in the hallway with his sister. Olivia glared at him, which actually felt better than the concern his mother had been oozing. ‘Did that guy hurt you?’ she asked bluntly. ‘I swear, Ash. If you hooked up with someone and they turned out to be an asshole <em>again…’</em></p><p class="western">‘No,’ Ash managed, because, well. Remington was a bit of an asshole, sometimes. But he had never been an asshole to Ash, and that was the entire point. ‘No. He didn’t do anything wrong.’</p><p class="western">‘Good,’ Olivia said, still looking like she would be happy to charge out of the gate if need be. ‘Then he’ll live. For now.’</p><p class="western">‘Don’t…’ Ash sighed, but stopped. It would take far too much time and effort to explain to his well-meaning baby sister why threatening Remington of all people with fang and claw was such an exceptionally bad idea. Although, given what he’d seen just that afternoon, the witch apparently was now perfectly capable to defend himself. ‘Just, don’t. He didn’t do anything. I promise.’</p><p class="western">Olivia did not look convinced, but she let him go to the library upstairs, where he was quickly joined by Annabelle and Lewis. ‘Alright,’ Annabelle said, closing the door as Lewis sat down in one of the leather arm chairs. ‘Now. Why don’t you tell us what happened with you and that witch of yours.’</p><p class="western">It took Ash a while to explain what happened, mainly because he wasn’t entirely sure of some of the facts himself. But the things he did know, he told them: how someone from Remington’s old pack had come and threatened to take away the house. How Remington had blown up, almost literally, and how the magic had been so strong that even now, Ash heard a faint ringing in his ears. And how he had gone outside and seen the witch, both witches, lying on the ground like ragdolls. How he’d gone to Morgan and made him go away, and how he had then turned back and seen the way Remington looked at him.</p><p class="western">How, even if it had just been for one half of a second, there had been a fear so raw that it even hurt to look at. And how that had been the moment Ash had realized that he would have to leave.</p><p class="western">‘I can’t stay there now,’ he said, voice soft in the quiet of the library. Annabelle and Lewis were both watching him, his mother looking puzzled but Lewis with an understanding that made Ash feel like he was making the right call. ‘Not now. He is… he is so scared. Still. And he needs… he needs to feel safe. More than anything. That other witch…’ He stopped, not wanting to explain how or why Morgan had called Remington by the wrong name, or called him sweetheart. ‘He treated him like… like a child. A toddler, like Remington had some candy that he wanted and he was just going to take it.’ His voice took on an edge now and Annabelle’s confusion made way for a dark look that did not bode well for the Moore pack. ‘I figured it was best to get out of his way,’ Ash finished lamely. ‘Just for a little bit. Until he feels better.’</p><p class="western">Annabelle said nothing, but it was Lewis who nodded. ‘That was a good way to handle things,’ he said kindly and Ash swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘That boy is very lucky, to have at last found one wolf who cares for him.’</p><p class="western">‘You do care for him,’ Annabelle added. Ash nodded, staring at his shoes. ‘A lot, I figure.’</p><p class="western">‘Will you go back?’ Lewis asked, when it seemed Ash was not going to respond to that. ‘I know it’s almost Christmas, but in the new year?’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah,’ Ash said, voice rough. ‘Yeah. I think so. I guess. I mean. I still have a job and I have just gotten started with the backyard and I can’t leave Ms. Nell with three empty flats and…’ He stopped again. Annabelle nodded, smiling a little. ‘Good. Of course, you are welcome to stay here as long as you like, but it would be a shame if you gave up on your new life after just three months. Wouldn’t it?’</p><p class="western">Three months. Ash hadn’t even thought about it that way. It had only been three months since he had moved into Willow’s Close, but it already seemed a lifetime ago. He nodded. ‘Yeah. It’s… It’s a good place. I like it.’</p><p class="western">‘I know,’ Annabelle said gently. ‘So. How about you stay here. For however long you want, and then next year, we will see about going back. How does that sound?’</p><p class="western">It did not sound great, but it was all Ash had for the moment. So he nodded again, feeling just the tiniest bit relieved. ‘Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.’</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">The rest of the week went by in a haze. He went for runs with his sister. He ran alone too, but not as long and not as far as before. He fixed things around the house, minor things that could have waited but he was here now. He fixed leaky taps, he oiled creaky door hinges, he helped his mother put up the Christmas decorations around the house. He talked to Lewis some more, and not just about witches and power either; ever since his father died, Lewis had been, well. A father figure, to put it plainly, and there were a lot of things Ash told him that he would never ever tell his mother.</p><p class="western">He sat through raucous dinners and too-loud breakfasts with as much grace as he could muster and fiercely missed the quiet of Willow’s Close. He spent a lot of time in his room, watching stupid movies or browsing websites he forgot about the moment he closed the page. He once, half by accident and half out of some sense of morbid curiosity, searched for Remington’s online store but closed it immediately again when he saw row after row of crocheted fabric.</p><p class="western">He went for a long run after that.</p><p class="western">He spent the entire second day convincing his mother not to go after the Northby pack. He hadn’t mean to tell her about the place or the pack Remington was from, at least, not in detail. But something must have slipped out and before he knew it, Annabelle was asking him if there were any measures that needed to be taken. Knowing his mother, that probably meant if the entire pack should be disbanded. And no matter how much Ash would love to see that, he still told her no.</p><p class="western">‘Not without him,’ he said. ‘He’ll kill me. And he’d be right to. We don’t… we don’t have a right.’</p><p class="western">‘We have <em>every </em>right,’ his mother said, looking at him with a frown of confusion. ‘If a pack misbehaves so much that it chases away their <em>witch, </em>then that pack is very rotten indeed. And it should be investigated, at the least.’</p><p class="western">‘No,’ Ash said again, more certain than he’d ever been. ‘No. It should have been investigated years ago, perhaps. Not now. And not like this. If…’ He stopped and then continued: ‘I can ask him. Maybe. But later. When things… when things are normal again.’</p><p class="western">Annabelle still did not look convinced, but eventually she agreed to let it go, for now. Ash breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Because Remington <em>would </em>kill him. There was no doubt about that. And Ash might feel like absolute shit right now, it did not mean he was ready to be crushed into pieces by his own house coming down around him.</p><p class="western">The third day, Ash received a phone call from Mr. Summers (who had very kindly approved his indefinite leave without any kind of prior notice whatsoever) that the windows in Remington’s house were finished. Mr. Summers told him that he couldn’t reach Remington, and hoped Ash would pass on the message. Which, after about three hours of waffling back and forth, he did by sending the witch the briefest of texts: <em>Windows all done. Hope you feel better soon.</em></p><p class="western">Because Ash did remember what happened the last time Remington had pulled more of his magic than usual. That had not been pretty, and he doubted it would be any better this time.</p><p class="western">Remington did not reply. Not at day four, and not at day five, even though the little checkmarks did turn blue somewhere halfway through the afternoon. So either he was still alive, and awake enough to check his phone, or he had died, and Nell was looking through his contacts to see who she should call. Ash spent a brief moment panicking about that possibility, and then realized that Nell probably would have called him if that happened. Probably.</p><p class="western">And so it went. Olivia caught him at the end of that fifth day and said he was being worse than when he’d come home after he and Nick had split, and he believed her. At least back then, he’d been filled with adrenalin. Anger, regret, hurt, all churning inside and spilling out in bursts of running, of frantically sanding down and repainting the backdoor, of <em>activity. </em>It had not been good, not in the slightest, but at least he had felt <em>alive.</em></p><p class="western">Now, he just felt tired. And empty. Because even if he stayed with his pack until after Christmas, and even if he went back to Willow’s Close eventually. Ash was pretty sure there would not be a dark-haired, dark-eyed witch with magic fingers and a permanent scowl on his face waiting for him.</p><p class="western">And then, halfway through day six, when Christmas was a mere week away, Olivia talked him into going on another run.</p><p class="western">---</p><p class="western">
  <em>The wolf does not really want to run. So he trots after his sister slowly, without much enthusiasm. The air is properly cold now and he can taste the snow that is almost there. It will be nice to have snow again. The wolf likes snow. It crunches under his feet and even though it’s cold and wet, his fur keeps him dry as he runs around in it, plays with it until the entire pristine white blanket looks like a battlefield.</em>
</p><p class="western"><em>But not yet. And not now. Now, the wolf plods along as his sister runs ahead, turning around every so often and snarling at him to keep up. And it’s good to be outside. With the coming snow and the smell of damp earth and the feeling of </em>pack <em>all around him, the wolf should have everything he needs to be happy. To chase after his sister like he did before, or to race her to the tallest tree at the edge of the woods.</em></p><p class="western">
  <em>But the wolf isn’t happy. And so, when his sister finally gives up and runs along without him, he wanders over to a clearing, not far from the house but deep enough into the woods that he feels secluded. Alone.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>He lies down there. The ground is cold, but he doesn’t mind. He’ll stay warm in his fur for a while. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. Moss. Dead leaves. Grass. A rabbit, somewhere nearby. A deer, a little bit further. The snow in the air, his sister somewhere far away. Deep, rich earth. The house, a large presence of bricks and wood and metal.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>The wolf sniffs. He lifts his head. There is metal in the air, and it isn’t just the house, or the snow. This metal is different. It’s iron.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Tea and iron. And it’s here.</em>
</p><p class="western"><em>The wolf stands up. Sniffs the air again, tasting. Searching, confirming. It’s here. Tea and iron, bitter and deep and warm and </em>here.</p><p class="western">
  <em>He stills for a second, his breath hanging around him in the freezing air. And then he starts to run and he runs faster than he has ever run in his life because he is running home.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>He bolts out of the woods, crosses the grass in record time. He bypasses the lockers because yes, he should probably shift but he doesn’t. Instead he tears through the backdoor. Through the hallway, the kitchen and another hallway. He reaches a corner and turns on two legs, almost crashing into the wall. He runs on and finally reaches a door that leads to the driveway in front of the house. It’s not the front door but that is too far away and tea and iron is everywhere now.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>The door opens easily, even for the wolf. He pauses only briefly, reflecting a bit late that perhaps he should have shifted. But then a gust of wind, with the taste of snow, blows open the door and the wolf runs on, down the driveway in one, two, three giant leaps until he finally comes to a stop.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Until he finally sees the witch.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter 27</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Remington spent the entire two and a half our drive to the Leigh pack residence trying not to vomit and severely regretting not accepting Pearl’s offer to drive him, because: ‘we have to make sure that you don’t chicken out halfway through.’</p><p class="western">Which was a little harsh. Not entirely unexpected, but still. And even though Remington had entered wolf country about half an hour ago and still had yet to turn around, he knew his hands were not as steady around the wheel as they probably should be. It was a good thing there was little to no other traffic on the road to see him swerve. But he was here, and he was still driving in the right direction and he had not even stopped once and he could <em>do </em>this.</p><p class="western">He had to do this.</p><p class="western">Around him, the open fields gave way to dense forests on both sides. Remington swallowed and clenched his hands around the wheel a little tighter, hit the gas a little harder. If he squinted, he could see shadows moving behind the trees and even though he knew those shadows were mainly his imagination, it did not make him feel any better.</p><p class="western">He closed his eyes, just for a second, and focused. On kind grey eyes, a gentle smile. Strong arms. A voice that asked the first question that came to mind, without thinking first. He breathed out. He could do this.</p><p class="western">Before he knew it, the woods retreated again to reveal a small town. This was the point where Remington’s navigation system gave up, so he drove the rest of the way slowly, picking his turns as he remembered them from poring over Nell’s map back at Willow’s Close.</p><p class="western">‘You can’t miss it,’ she’d said. ‘Just go straight through Langley as you come in and then when you drive out the other end, take the first turn to the right. It’s a huge house, so if you’re not sure you can stop and ask anyone, they’ll point you in the right direction.’</p><p class="western">Remington had nodded, a bit unsure. But now that he was here, he realized it really was that easy; the B-road he’d been on for almost twenty minutes now, went straight through the town. He followed it, heart hammering in his chest, until he was back in the forest on the other side and almost missed the narrow road that led off towards the right.</p><p class="western">That was when he stopped. Because he knew better than to roll up to a pack house unannounced. He could feel the wards from here and they were strong; if he pushed it, he’d end up back on the other side of Langley, with a headache to rival the one from the past week. So he didn’t. Instead he got out of the car, after convincing his knees and legs to cooperate, and stood by the side of the road. Waiting.</p><p class="western">It did not take long. Not even a minute, in fact, before someone approached from under the trees. Someone who was distinctly not Ashford and Remington swallowed a ball of disappointment and nerves before he stepped forward. ‘Hello?’</p><p class="western">‘By the pricking of my thumbs,’ the figure said in a cheerful voice. ‘Something witchy this way comes. Hello there. You must be Remington.’</p><p class="western">Right. Remington suddenly had a pretty good idea where Ashford got his terrible puns. He smiled a little shakily. ‘Yes. Hello. You must be Lewis.’</p><p class="western">Because the man who was grinning at him from the other side of the road was not a wolf. Remington could feel the power coming off of him in waves, which only made sense for a pack witch in his territory. He was short, blonde, had a moustache a walrus would be proud of and he looked at Remington as if he had been expecting him. Which maybe he had. Ashford had not told him what kind of power Lewis possessed. He might very well be able to look into the future.</p><p class="western">‘That’s me,’ Lewis said, still grinning. ‘Welcome to the Leigh residence. Come on in, the wards won’t hurt you.’</p><p class="western">‘Thank you.’ Remington stepped forward and winced a little when he passed the wards. It felt like stepping under a cold shower for just a second, and then it was gone and he was standing next to the other witch. ‘Uhm. I’m here to…’</p><p class="western">‘I know,’ Lewis said. His face softened as he turned and looked at something behind Remington. ‘He’s right here.’</p><p class="western">Remington turned around. He had not heard the wolf approach but it was there, standing ghostly grey in the gloom underneath the trees. The moment it caught Remington’s eye, however, it lowered itself to the ground, whining softly.</p><p class="western">‘Oh no.’ Remington’s voice was a whisper. ‘No. Don’t…’</p><p class="western">But the wolf stayed put, staring up at Remington with huge, dark eyes. Remington shook his head, feeling all his tension flow away. ‘Hey,’ he said, voice still barely audible. The wolf’s ears pricked up. ‘It’s alright. I’m not… It’s alright.’</p><p class="western">The wolf whined again. Remington smiled and stepped forward slowly, watching the wolf all the way. ‘It’s alright,’ he said again. Lewis stood forgotten in the background as Remington bent through his knees, a little distance away from the wolf still. ‘Do you… I mean.’ He chuckled and made a face. ‘This would be easier if you were human.’</p><p class="western">The wolf looked at him for a long moment and then got up, his mouth splitting open in a wide, wolfish grin. Before Remington could blink, he had turned around and was galloping back along the driveway towards the house. Remington could see it now, from between the trees; a large, sprawling building of red brick that looked like someone had taken three different houses and then glued them together. He smiled and stood up, turning back to Lewis. ‘Do you mind if I…’</p><p class="western">‘By all means.’ Lewis’ grin was back in full force. ‘Be my guest.’</p><p class="western">Remington nodded and set off towards the house, following the wolf. <em>His </em>wolf. The thought gave him a thrill, one that was far stronger than the bundle of nerves that was still churning away in his stomach.</p><p class="western">He hadn’t even made it to the end of the driveway when a large, distinctly Ashford-shaped figure stepped out through a side door and despite himself, Remington breathed a quiet sigh of relief. It would be some time before that went away, he supposed. He stopped at the edge of the trees, a little ways away from the house and watched as Ashford walked towards him. It was clear he had shifted in a hurry; he was still pulling on his sweater, his shoes were untied and his hair was a veritable bird’s nest and it was the most glorious sight Remington had ever seen. The nerves that had vanished earlier were back in full force as Ashford came closer and he had to swallow a couple of times before he could say: ‘Hi.’</p><p class="western">‘Hey,’ Ashford said, a little breathlessly. ‘Uhm. Hi. Are you…’</p><p class="western">‘I’m okay,’ Remington said quickly. ‘Are you...’</p><p class="western">Ashford nodded and then, apparently stumped by this riveting dialogue, fell silent. He just looked at Remington, a little helplessly and a lot worried and once again, Remington wondered why on earth this had taken him so long. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’ he asked softly. ‘Not… not inside, though.’</p><p class="western">‘No, of course,’ Ashford said. ‘I mean. Yes. Yes, we can talk. Outside. There’s a… We can sit by the lockers. If that’s OK.’</p><p class="western">Remington did not know what the lockers were, but he followed Ashford anyway. They went around the house, which took some time, and then doubled back until they reached what looked like a row of gym lockers under a low-hanging roof. There was a wooden bench next to the lockers and Remington realized what this was: a very smart way to keep clothes and shoes safe and dry while a wolf ran around outside. ‘Huh,’ he said. ‘Clever.’</p><p class="western">Ashford turned around. ‘They didn’t have this in your… Nevermind. Sorry.’</p><p class="western">Remington shook his head. ‘No. At least. I don’t think so.’</p><p class="western">That made Ashford frown, but he didn’t ask. Instead he sat down on the bench and looked at Remington, who joined him after only a second’s pause. ‘Hey.’</p><p class="western">Ashford smiled and breathed out. ‘Hi.’</p><p class="western">Remington fidgeted a little and then decided to bite the bullet clean through: ‘I know why you went away. And… I won’t say you were wrong. Exactly. Because I am scared. I’m scared of a lot of things and I’m scared of werewolves most of all and I’m not telling you why because that’s not why I’m here.’ He took a breath. ‘I’ll tell you later. Maybe. If you want to.’</p><p class="western">Ashford shook his head, looking more serious than Remington had ever seen him. ‘No. You don’t have to.’</p><p class="western">‘I know,’ Remington said. ‘Thanks. But that’s the thing.’ He looked at Ashford and smiled, feeling a flutter of nerves that had nothing to do with the fact that he was in the middle of a wolf territory and everything with the man sitting next to him. ‘I’m not scared of you. I… I haven’t been scared of you in a long time. In fact...’ He took another deep breath. ‘When I’m with you… I feel safe. Like, really safe. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but to me, that’s kind of a big deal.’</p><p class="western">He swallowed and looked at Ashford again. The werewolf looked completely thunderstruck. ‘Please come home,’ Remington said softly. ‘You didn’t have to leave in the first place. But please come home. With me.’</p><p class="western">Ashford blinked. Realization dawned slowly, but when it did, his eyes widened and he looked at Remington with undisguised wonder. ‘Safe?’ he asked, voice hoarse. Remington nodded, throat suddenly tight. ‘Yeah. Safe.’</p><p class="western">Ashford’s jaw worked, but no sound came out. Remington watched as seconds ticked by and a range of emotions played across the werewolf’s face until: ‘Me too.’</p><p class="western">It was said so softly that Remington almost did not catch it. But he did, and his heart stopped for a moment. Ashford’s eyes were still huge and when he took Remington’s hand in his, Remington laced their fingers together and held on tight. ‘Safe,’ Ashford repeated, staring at his hand around Remington’s. ‘When I’m with you. At least. I mean. I’m not scared of a lot of things.’ Remington huffed a laugh, and Ashford smiled. ‘Yeah. I know. But I mean… I know you bite everyone’s heads of sometimes, but you’re never… you’re never <em>mean. </em>In fact, you might be one of the kindest people I’ve ever met and I… <em>Hmph.’</em></p><p class="western">He stopped because that was the moment Remington kissed him. He launched himself at Ashford, grabbing his head with both hands and kissing him deeply before he had a chance to say anything else. The house, the lockers, the woods, all fell away. Ashford’s arms went around Remington’s waist, pulling him closer and Remington’s world filled up with the scent and taste of green things, of warmth and love and safety and home. And then Ashford made a noise, almost a whine, and Remington had to pull away because if he didn’t stop now, he wouldn’t stop at all.</p><p class="western">‘Come home,’ he whispered, resting his forehead against Ashford’s. ‘Please. I…’ He swallowed, taking a deep and much-needed breath. ‘I know I have hang-ups. And I can’t promise you there won’t be… wobbles. There’s still a lot of things I am scared of. I don’t think that’s going away anytime soon, even though… even though things are getting better. But...’ He took Ashford’s hand again and squeezed it. Ashford made another noise, something that sounded like a sob and a laugh at the same time. ‘If you’re OK with that, then… then I want to try. I’ll try and be better. And we can keep each other safe, too. Just, come home. Please.’</p><p class="western">This time when Ashford kissed him, it was slow and gentle, almost painfully so. Remington closed his eyes and tasted musk and salt and he couldn’t tell where it came from and he didn’t care either. All he cared about was Ashford, solid and warm in his arms, and holding him so carefully, as if Remington was something incredibly precious. There was a lump in Remington’s throat this time when he broke off and instead of talking, he chose to hide his face in Ashford’s shoulder for a bit. It was a good shoulder and he fit very nicely, especially when Ashford’s hand came up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling in Remington’s hair as he held him.</p><p class="western">‘I’ll come home,’ Ashford said, and Remington blew out a breath. Ashford’s hold tightened as he slumped against the werewolf, all his tension and nervousness gone. ‘I’ll come home with you. Right now. I’ll...’</p><p class="western">He stopped abruptly as a shrill wolf-whistle cut through the quiet afternoon air. Remington tensed. ‘What the...’</p><p class="western">‘I’m sorry,’ Ashford said with a sigh, ‘but I think that would be my sister. We apparently have an audience now.’</p><p class="western">Remington sat still for a moment, his heart once again thumping in his chest. ‘Uhm.’</p><p class="western">‘It’s alright,’ Ashford said quickly, holding him tight. ‘It’s OK. You don’t have to…’ He stopped and then went on: ‘I’ll take you back to your car. You can wait there and I’ll go get my stuff and then we’ll go home. We can do the introductions some other time. Whenever you want to.’</p><p class="western">Remington paused. Then he sat up, looked at Ashford and smiled. ‘I’ll manage,’ he said, before turning around. Still safely within Ashford’s embrace, he faced the girl who was approaching them from across the grass. She was a good head shorter than Ashford, but she had the same dark hair, the same square build and the same grey eyes. She also had the exact same wolfish grin. ‘Hey.’</p><p class="western">‘Hi,’ the girl said, coming to a stop. She crossed her arms and gave him a once-over. ‘I’m Olivia.’ And then, to Ashford: ‘He’s scrawnier than I expected.’</p><p class="western">Remington rolled his eyes and leaned back against his werewolf, who snorted. ‘So not having a filter runs in the family, hm?’ he muttered darkly, but he could not hold back a smile as Ashford sniggered.</p><p class="western">For a long moment, silence reigned. Then Remington stood up. Glanced back at Ashford for one moment and then turned to Olivia, holding out his hand. ‘Hi. I’m Remington.’</p><p class="western">
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">‘Are you sure about this?’ Ash asked, for approximately the tenth time that week. He lifted a large plastic bag out of his van and followed Remington towards the house. ‘I mean, of course it’s your house and everything, but it seems a little early to throw a housewarming party already.’</p><p class="western">‘I’m sure,’ Remington said curtly, also for the tenth time that week. Ash smiled when the witch opened the door and let them both in. It was only a few days past Christmas (which they had spent together, to Remington’s great surprise and Ash’ delight; Ash had decided not to go back to his pack for Christmas after all, and the image of his witch in a Santa Hat more than made up for that. It now lived rent free in his mind, indefinitely) and there hadn’t been much work done to the house after the windows had been fixed. The floor was still scuffed, the kitchen was still poky and ancient and the bathroom was functional, but that was all that could be said for it. The only major improvement they had made, was the fact that the bedroom now contained an actual bed.</p><p class="western">‘I’m not going to sleep on that blasted air mattress again,’ Remington had explained, in his usual grumpy manner. But the tips of his ears had reddened and Ash had grinned and asked if that meant they could have sleepovers here now. Remington’s ears grew even redder at that, and that was the point where Ash, needing only the slightest of excuses nowadays, had kissed him. They had tested the new bed pretty thoroughly after that. Multiple times.</p><p class="western">But for the rest, the house was still empty. Impeccably clean, thanks to the gnomes, but empty. Ash followed Remington down the hall and put the bag down in the kitchen. It made a dull <em>thunk </em>in the quiet room. ‘Alright, but there’s not a lot to decorate here,’ he said a little doubtfully. ‘Where do you want to put this?’</p><p class="western">Remington rolled his eyes but Ash could see the smile behind it. It was closer to the surface now and Ash loved to see it, and he loved it even more to be the one Remington smiled at. ‘Just, follow my lead, OK? Here, take this…’ He dug into the bag and took out a string of fairy lights and a roll of packing tape. ‘And put this around the windows. I’ll get the rest out of the van.’</p><p class="western">Ash took the lights and the tape and, after only a moment’s deliberation, set to work. Remington disappeared outside and returned a couple of seconds later, almost invisible behind the literal mountain of pillows and blankets he was carrying. He dumped them on the floor and looked appreciatively at Ash, who was balancing on a two-step ladder and struggling to get a string of lights to stay on top of the window frame. ‘Looks nice,’ he commented, just as Ash dropped the string. Ash swore. Remington sniggered.</p><p class="western">‘You want to get up there?’ Ash asked, shooting Remington a half-hearted glare. Then he saw the pile at Remington’s feet. ‘Hey. Are those…’</p><p class="western">‘My testers,’ Remington said, grin softening into a bashful smile. ‘Best I could do. I mean, I’m not going to bring commissions in here, and they’ll make things comfortable, at least.’</p><p class="western">That they did, Ash had to admit. About an hour later, all the fairy lights had been wrangled into place, Remington’s pillows and blankets were placed at strategic places so people could sit down and make themselves comfortable, and Remington had produced another bag full of food and drinks, which had now been set up on the folding table Ash had brought in from the kitchen. It looked nice, Ash thought, as he stepped back and looked around. Less like an empty house, and more like a cozy room, where you could sink into a pillow, curl up under a blanket and be nice and warm and relaxed.</p><p class="western">‘Alright,’ he said, turning and smiling at Remington, who was hovering in the doorway. ‘Would this be the point where you tell me?’</p><p class="western">Remington raised an eyebrow. ‘Tell you what?’</p><p class="western">‘Why you’re doing this,’ Ash said. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong. I think it’s great if you want to show the others around. But I thought…’ He paused for a moment and then went on. ‘I thought you’d wanted to wait until everything was done.’</p><p class="western">There was a moment’s hesitation and then Remington shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, with that peculiar soft expression on his face that Ash had learned to associate with anything house-related. ‘No. That… I mean, I’m still going to finish it all,’ he said, looking around. ‘But it doesn’t… it doesn’t need to be. Not yet.’ He looked at Ash again. ‘Alright. I guess I can tell you.’</p><p class="western">He made his way over to a pile of pillows in the corner and Ash joined him there as he sat down. When Remington stayed silent, Ash took his hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently. ‘Hey. What’s the plan?’</p><p class="western">‘The plan is…’ Remington started, and then stopped again. Ash, now more curious than ever, nudged him a little and Remington swallowed. ‘There was a plan. And that’s still the plan, just… with some slight adjustments. I think. The plan… what I wanted to do first was, I wanted to make this something like Nell’s place. For anyone who wanted to get out of the city for a bit. Like, for you to go on runs, or for Pearl if she wanted to stretch her wings, or… I don’t know. Whatever vampires get up to, I suppose. And then I would come here to and stay a couple of days, every once in a while, but I’d also keep my flat at Nell’s because… because that’s home too. And I didn’t want to leave. I still don’t.’</p><p class="western">Ash stared at him. Then carefully let go of Remington’s hand to wrap it around his shoulder instead, pulling him in and dropping a kiss into his hair before letting go again. ‘That’s… that’s a good plan,’ he said, smiling as Remington kissed his temple in return. Remington was rather new to the whole ‘touching’ thing, but Ash was nothing if not a patient teacher and by now, the witch was slowly but surely getting the hang of it.</p><p class="western">‘But…?’ he asked, squeezing Remington’s shoulder a little. ‘That’s no longer the plan?’</p><p class="western">‘No.’ Remington shook his head, looking back at the hand he’d put on Ash’ knee. ‘Or I mean. Yes. Uhm. Sort of. I mean…’ He took a deep breath. ‘I think it’s going to be the opposite way. As in, I stay here. And then every once in a while, I’ll go back to Willow’s Close because… because that’s important. And of course, people can still come here if they want, but…’ He trailed off again but this time, Ash waited patiently. At last, Remington smiled, although a little tight. ‘But I also wanted to do something else. Something good. And then I thought, this house has three bedrooms and I’m only going to use one of them.’</p><p class="western">Ash’ jaw dropped as realization dawned. ‘Wait. You’re not going to…’</p><p class="western">‘Yeah.’ Remington nodded, his smile widening a little. ‘I’m going to do what Nell is doing. Only slightly different. Because, well. I only have bedrooms. I don’t have fully independent flats, so it’s probably not that great for couples, or, or adults.’ He looked at Ash, now with a determined gleam in his eye. Ash, still staring open-mouthed at this wonder of a witch. ‘Did you know, I was fifteen when I left my pack. Bounced around all over the place for five years until I finally ended up at Nell’s. Had no clue how to keep my place clean, how to cook, how to manage money, how to do anything an adult is supposed to do. All I knew was how to crochet, and how to not do magic. Nell… Nell literally saved my life, more times than I can count.’ He paused, giving Ash a crooked smile. ‘Turns out trying to deep-clean a toilet with bleach and vinegar is something you should not do. I think the gnomes arrived only a couple days after Nell caught me out by following the fumes upstairs.’</p><p class="western">‘Oh my god,’ Ash muttered, shaking his head in horrified amusement. ‘OK. Please don’t tell me more. I don’t think I can...’</p><p class="western">‘Maybe some day,’ Remington said, and Ash nodded. ‘Some day. I’ll tell you everything. But see, that’s what I want to do. With this house. I want to… I want to help others. Like me. Queer kids, either human or not, who have nowhere else to go. I know… I know this is a small place and in the middle of nowhere and I have absolutely no experience with kids whatsoever, but...’</p><p class="western">‘I’ll help you,’ Ash said quickly and Remington nodded. He had taken Ash’ hand again and held it tight. ‘I know.’</p><p class="western">They sat quietly for a moment. Outside, dusk was rapidly approaching and the fairy lights in the room were coming into their full effect. Any moment, the rest of the Willow’s Close residents would arrive; Nell had made sure even Beau would be able to come and Ash had called Orla, who would be coming up from Brighton just for the evening. But right now, it was Ash and his witch, sitting together on a pile of pillows and blankets and right now, Ash had to fight very hard to not grab the witch by the scruff of his neck and kiss him senseless. ‘I will,’ he said instead, voice soft in the silent room. ‘I’ll help you. I mean, I don’t have any experience with kids either so I’m not sure if I’ll be any use, but...’</p><p class="western">‘We’ll manage,’ Remington said, giving Ash that same crooked smile again. ‘Somehow. We’ll manage.’</p><p class="western">Ash nodded and then he did grab Remington and hauled him in, kissing him deeply. He closed his eyes, tangled his fingers in Remington’s hair and thought of warmth and love and home, of handmade blankets and black devil cats and a bark that was far worse than bite. When they broke off, he still held on tight, wrapping both arms around Remington’s waist so he had no choice but to lay his head on Ash’ shoulder and stay there.</p><p class="western">‘I take it you approve?’ Remington asked, after a moment’s silence. Instead of answering immediately, Ash pressed a kiss into his hair, overcome as he was with awe and joy and love for this witch, <em>his </em>witch. ‘I mean, I know it’s a lot and it will take some time before everything’s ready so if you need to think about this… I know you just said you’d help me but you don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to...’</p><p class="western">‘Shut up,’ Ash said. Remington shut up. ‘I said I’d help you. And I will. I promise.’</p><p class="western">Remington looked up. His eyes were dark and huge, shining almost gold in the dim light and Ash was so completely, utterly in love with him that it hurt, in the best way possible. ‘I promise,’ Ash said again, pressing the gentlest of kisses to Remington’s forehead. ‘You got me.’</p><p class="western">Remington smiled and closed his eyes again, resting his head back on Ash’ shoulder. ‘Yeah, I do.’</p><p class="western">There was a sudden crunching of gravel outside, right before the aggressive honking of a horn. ‘Oi!’ Orla’s voice yelled. ‘Anybody home?’</p><p class="western">‘So far for having a moment together,’ Remington muttered, but he was still smiling even when Ash dislodged him to stand up. ‘Time to face the crowd.’</p><p class="western">‘A little small for a country estate,’ a hollow voice joined Orla’s yelling. ‘But charming. Very charming.’</p><p class="western">‘You ready?’ Ash asked, taking Remington’s hand. Outside, more voices joined in a running commentary on the outside of the house, the barren patch of land that had once been a backyard and the general quiet and clean air that you just did not find in a city. Remington nodded and squeezed Ash’ hand, just once, before letting go and heading towards the door. ‘Let’s get this over with.’</p><p class="western">But by now, Ash knew him well enough to see the grin behind the grump. He followed Remington out of the room, shaking his head and not even bothering to hide the fond expression on his face. As the witch opened the front door and welcomed everybody in, Ash hung back and watched with a soft smile. It was fully dark outside now and a light dusting of snow had started to fall; in the yellow light of the street lamps, Remington looked almost ethereal as he stood in the doorway. One by one, the residents of Willow’s Close filtered out of Nell’s car, all bundled up in scarves and hats and carrying bags and boxes, despite Remington’s insistence that he would not accept any housewarming presents. Beau was still providing a running commentary on the outer aesthetics of the ‘country estate’, as he called it, Pearl was shivering in the snow and scowling from behind her overly large scarf and Orla, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, had already disappeared into the backyard, yelling something about checking out the view. And Remington, for all his snark and grumpiness, was smiling, hugging Nell as she came in and all Ash could think was <em>I’m home.</em></p><p class="western">It didn’t matter that the house was unfurnished and bare; it didn’t matter that the carpet was faded and the kitchen fell apart. All that mattered was the undisguised happiness on Remington’s face as he guided everybody inside. All that mattered was the feeling of Remington’s hand in Ash’ as he went around, giving everybody a full tour of the house. All that mattered was the way he held on to Ash as he told them about his plan, and the way he had to let go because he was immediately being smothered in hugs from all sides. And in the end, when everybody had finally filed outside and back into Nell’s car again, all that mattered was the way Remington turned back to Ash, standing in the suddenly quiet room, and smiled. A little tired, a little unsure, but Ash’ heart melted all the same.</p><p class="western">‘Come here,’ he said, and Remington went willingly, burying himself into Ash’ chest. Ash held him there for a second, wrapping him up as tight as he could. ‘They loved it,’ Ash told him, rocking the witch gently from side to side. Remington made a noise into Ash’ sweater and Ash squeezed him tighter, nuzzling a kiss into the mop of curls presented to him. ‘They did. They loved it.’</p><p class="western">‘I love you.’</p><p class="western">It was soft, almost smothered into layers of fabric but Ash heard it all the same and his heart sang. ‘Me too,’ he whispered, now kissing Remington’s hair, his temples, the top of his ears, everything he could reach. ‘Love you too.’</p><p class="western">And then Remington caught his mouth and that was the last thing either of them said for a while.</p><p class="western">And of course, there was still a lot of work to be done and finishing the house was only the start of it. Ash knew that helping queer kids was probably easier said than done and that there would be a lot of things the both of them had not thought about yet, but which were incredibly important. But that was something to worry about later. Right now, Ash had a witch, a pack and a home. He was going to be fine.</p>
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